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"Petal! Petal!"
There was no answer except for the hoot of a lone,
unseen owl.
All the rest of that night, Aron scrambled about the dark
woods, calling his daughter's name and bruising himself as
he hit his head on low limbs and banged fully into unseen
tree trunks.
By the time the sun rose, sending its early morning rays
to light the misty air and awaken the birds, who promptly
began their warbling, Aron was ready to faint from
exhaustion. He had been searching and calling all night.
Defeated and heartbroken, but determined to march to
Gateway to fetch his daughter if need be, he trudged to his
cottage to get his stick.
Yet, when he got there, whom did he find, sleeping
curled up in her bed as innocently as a doe, but Petal.
Aron rubbed his swollen eyes. His heart soared with
joy. Was it possible, in his great concern, that he had missed
her sleeping there the night before? Everything was as it
was supposed to be - except, Aron noted, that there were
little puddles of water, footprints really, leading up to
Petal's bed. This was curious, but Aron didn't give it much
thought. He was happy to have his daughter back. He told
himself he would try to be nicer to her from then on, for the
last thing he wanted was to drive her away
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