You’re at your desk, or looking at your phone, when something moves at the edge of your sight. A flash of red. You look up. Nothing. “What’s that? Must be nothing.” Rain ticks against the city window. Your book is still open to the bridge. Except the bookmark is slowly pulling itself out.
A paw appears. Then a long ear, followed by another that seems unable to decide where to point. A small burgundy creature stands beside the book, clutching your ribbon. You stare. It turns the ribbon over, frowns at it and begins examining the cover with tremendous concentration. “Routine binding inspection,” it says.
Something under the laptop whispers, “Are you done yet?” Your pen rolls toward the mug. You catch the mug before it tips. A low indigo creature emerges, disappointed. “It was meant to tap the book.” “You could have said my name, Vex,” the first creature snaps. “I did. You were being mysterious.”
A round violet head rises behind the tray. “Puck. The page.” Near the fern, a green creature pulls a leaf out of someone else’s mouth. “That is attached, Orlo.” “I was holding it aside, Tavi.” The pear-shaped creature spits out the leaf and looks at Puck. “You’re inspecting the wrong end of the binding.”
Puck lets go of the cover. “You kept looking at that boat. We thought you’d got stuck.” “So we found the next bit,” Vex adds. Your bridge has been turned over. Beyond it, the boat has already reached land. All five wait for you to look pleased. You don’t. Puck’s ears lower, slowly.
You turn back to the bridge. In the wide margin, beside the printed boat, you’ve been drawing your own. It has an uneven roof and a chimney leaning the wrong way. You weren’t trying to finish the chapter. You were trying to get that boat right. Puck studies the drawing, paws held carefully clear of the pencil lines.
“We moved your place,” Puck says. “Yes.” “I was helping.” “You were guessing,” says Morrow. “You guess with objects,” Puck says. Morrow considers this. “Sometimes.” Vex backs away from the pen. Orlo straightens the bent cover without making a ceremony of it. Tavi keeps one paw on the leaf until Orlo is clear.
Puck picks up the ribbon, then stops before touching the page. “Here?” You slide its end toward the bridge. Puck lays it there carefully, checks your face, and removes one paw at a time. “I’m Puck,” they say. “These are NuThings.” “It’s daytime where we’re from,” Vex adds, as though that explains everything.
The others drift toward the window. Puck stays. They look at your drawing, open their mouth, then close it. You wait. “There isn’t anyone in the boat.” “There isn’t.” Puck sets one foot on the edge of the book. “I could sit here. For scale.” Their tail immediately covers half the bridge. “Not like that,” Vex says.
You draw a small shape in the boat: two paws, a nose, an ear. Puck leans over your pencil. “The other one’s taller.” You add it. Puck looks from the drawing to the empty strip beside your hand, then settles there. You keep drawing. Puck corrects the ears and leaves the boat alone.