Oliver adjusted his tweed cap, his nose twitching as he trotted after his father. The forest path felt soft beneath his boots, wet leaves squishing with every step. A recent rain had freshened everything—the scent of damp wood and moss lingered in the cool air, and Poppy kept shaking her little paws whenever they brushed against something soggy. She fumbled with the bundle of letters tucked under one arm, her scarf—a mustard-yellow knit—trailing dangerously close to the mud.

“Oliver, slow down!” she called, her voice small but insistent. “You know I can’t keep up when you barrel ahead like that.”

Oliver rolled his eyes and slowed just enough for her to catch up, the quills along his back bristling slightly with impatience. “You could if you didn’t walk like a snail, Poppy.”

“Do not,” Poppy muttered under her breath, tucking the letters tighter against her chest. A sunbeam broke through the trees, warming the damp path for a moment, and Poppy tilted her head up to feel the light on her nose. “It smells nice today. Like mushrooms and… pine.”

Oliver sniffed the air, but all he smelled was wet dirt. “Smells like mud to me,” he said. “Come on, we’ve got to catch up to Dad.”

Up ahead, Mr. Prickle plodded along with a steady rhythm, his brown waistcoat buttoned snug over his round belly. His leather satchel bounced against his side, full of parcels wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. He hummed softly to himself, a tune that Oliver recognized but couldn’t place.

“Here we are, little helpers!” Mr. Prickle called back without turning around. “First stop—Mrs. Willow’s house! That book of hers has been traveling since Monday. Let’s not keep her waiting any longer.”

Oliver perked up at the mention of Mrs. Willow, an elderly squirrel who always rewarded deliveries with warm hazelnut cookies. “I bet she’ll give us cookies!” he whispered to Poppy, quickening his step.

”She better,” Poppy replied, hopping over a puddle just in time to avoid a splash. “We’ve been walking all morning. My paws are freezing.”

As they rounded a bend in the path, the forest opened into a small clearing. A cluster of houses nestled among the thick trees, their windows glowing faintly with lantern light. Mrs. Willow’s home sat at the far end of the clearing, a cozy little burrow built into the roots of an enormous oak tree. Ivy twisted along the doorway, and a wooden sign with her name hung crookedly from a branch above the door.

Mr. Prickle rapped his knuckles against the burrow door. “Mrs. Willow! Post delivery!”

There was a scuffle from inside, and after a moment, the door creaked open to reveal the old squirrel herself, wrapped in a shawl with acorn buttons. “Oh, good morning, Mr. Prickle! And look at you two—Oliver and Poppy, helping your father today, are you? What good little hedgehogs.”

Oliver puffed out his chest again, adjusting his cap. “We’re fast, too. Not a single package late!”

“Is that so?” Mrs. Willow chuckled, her whiskers twitching. “Well, I have just the thing for such diligent helpers.” She disappeared inside for a moment, then returned with a small tin. “Hazelnut cookies, still warm from the oven.”

Poppy’s eyes lit up as Mrs. Willow handed her the tin. “Thank you, Mrs. Willow!” she chirped, carefully lifting the lid to peek at the treats. The smell of roasted nuts and brown sugar made her stomach rumble.

“Much obliged, ma’am,” Mr. Prickle said with a tip of his hat. “That book from Bluejay Hollow’s finally arrived.” He pulled the package from his satchel and passed it over with a smile. “Enjoy!”

Mrs. Willow took the parcel with both paws, her eyes twinkling behind her little spectacles. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for this one! Thank you so much.”

With a wave and a cheerful goodbye, the hedgehog family turned back down the path, munching cookies as they went. The sun climbed higher, casting slanted beams of light through the trees, but the air stayed crisp, hinting at the first bite of winter.

Oliver licked a crumb off his paw. “How many more stops do we have?” he asked, already feeling the weight of the day in his legs.

Mr. Prickle gave his satchel a shake, the packages inside shifting with a soft thunk. “A few more houses, son. We’ve got to get that sewing kit to Mrs. Badger next, then swing by the Burrows to deliver Mr. Mole’s spectacles.”

Poppy wiped her paws on her scarf and gave Oliver a sly look. “Race you to the next house?”

Oliver’s quills bristled with excitement. “You’re on!”

Without waiting, Poppy took off down the path, her scarf flapping behind her. Oliver yelped in surprise and bolted after her, the tin of cookies clattering against his chest as he ran.

“Not fair! You got a head start!” he shouted, but Poppy only giggled, her boots slapping the wet leaves as she darted ahead.

Mr. Prickle shook his head with a chuckle, watching them race through the forest. “Ah, to be young and full of energy,” he murmured to himself, adjusting his satchel with a contented sigh. The forest wrapped around him like an old friend—familiar, steady, and brimming with quiet life. A crow cawed overhead, the sound echoing between the trunks as a soft breeze stirred the leaves.

Oliver and Poppy’s laughter drifted back to him, mixing with the rustle of branches and the occasional plop of water dripping from the canopy. The forest might be damp and cool, but with his children beside him and the day unfolding ahead, it felt just right.

He gave his pocket watch another glance and smiled. Plenty of time left to finish their route—just enough for a few more adventures along the way.