Thousand: Three Hundred Twenty-Eight

The palette spins off Butternut’s head and does a little glide, thumping into a tree. As the girl leans over to get it, she hears a rushing of wind in the trees. The gnome and leprechaun have moved out of sight. That wind rush, she notices, is not heralding a breeze. A breeze? She feels silly. Wasn’t she the one who pointed it out? Most the trees are not easily climbed, full of prickly needles and close-set branches. But she spots one that has potential. A firm and barkless limb juts out just at chin height. Butternut hits it at