The other Franklin pointed to a doorway that glistened with a welcoming luminescence, his button eyes sparkling in the dim light of the other living room. "Beaver, hurry up! You have never seen a night sky like the one in Other Woodland."
Even though Beaver felt uneasy, she followed her button-eyed friends out of curiosity. The air became colder as they entered the doorway, and it smelled sweet, almost cloying, of flowers. They came out onto a trail that wound through a familiar but oddly exaggerated landscape. The flowers that bordered the path radiated an inner light, the trees were taller, and their leaves were a more vivid shade of green. The expanse of Other Woodland's sky above them was a magnificent sight.
This sky was a swirling canvas of colors Beaver had never seen before, unlike the familiar scattering of stars in her own night sky. Vibrant, emerald, and gold hues merged to form glowing clouds that floated languidly over the plain. Instead of the steady glow of distant suns, constellations here pulsed with a soft, rhythmic light, and shimmering trails of stardust snaked across the dark backdrop like celestial rivers.
"Is not it lovely?" With her button eyes reflecting the vivid hues above, the other Goose chimed melodiously. Her movements were oddly graceful as she moved with ease next to Beaver.
"It's… amazing," Beaver whispered, staring at a constellation that looked like a huge, glowing flower. The path below was illuminated by a soft, shifting light as its petals appeared to unfold and retract in slow motion.
With unwavering enthusiasm, the other Fox bounded forward, his button eyes wide. "And, Beaver, look over there! "The Whispering Falls"
In the distance, he gestured with his tail to a waterfall that gushed down a cliff. Instead of splashing as it fell, the water dissolved into a mist that shimmered with innumerable tiny sparks, and the water itself appeared to glow with a gentle blue light. A soft, melodic sound, akin to a chorus of whispers, floated in their direction on the mild wind.
The other Bear rumbled softly, "The water sings secrets," his button eyes calmly focused on the falls. His large paws hardly stirred the glowing moss that covered the forest floor as he walked with an unusual lightness.
The other rabbit hopped excitedly next to Beaver, twitching his still nose. "And the Fireflies! The Fireflies must be seen, Beaver! "They follow patterns when they dance."
Among the trees, tiny lights flickered as if in time. They were elaborate, well-coordinated displays rather than the intermittent flashes of ordinary fireflies. Collectively, clusters of lights would pulse, creating ephemeral shapes such as geometric patterns, swirling spirals, and even familiar images like tiny trees and stars.
With his button eyes reflecting the captivating display, the other Franklin strolled alongside Beaver. "Everything here is just the way it should be, Beaver. Perfect and beautiful. There's no sadness, no worries, only wonder."
With button eyes that exuded a quiet satisfaction, the other Badger walked tall and strong next to Franklin. You do not have to feel weak or hurt here, Beaver. It is always just right."
The sweet aroma of glowing blossoms that hung from the branches like luminous jewels filled the air as they ventured farther into Other Woodland. Strange, melodic sounds reverberated through the trees; they were not the insect or bird calls Beaver was familiar with, but rather ethereal harmonies that seemed to come straight from the atmosphere.
They went by animals Beaver had never seen before, including birds with feathers that shimmered in every color of the rainbow and small, furry animals with iridescent fur and large, luminous eyes (thankfully not buttons). These animals seemed indifferent to Beaver and her companions' presence, moving with a quiet elegance.
They reached a clearing illuminated by the gentle glow of the whirling sky after following the path. There was a huge tree in the middle of the clearing, its leaves gleaming like silver. The air around it hummed with a soft energy, and its branches reached for the glowing clouds.
"This is the Wishing Tree," the other Goose declared in a reverent, melodic voice. "Beaver, all of your dreams can come true here."
The other Kit, who had been walking quietly next to Beaver, finally spoke. His voice was a perfect replica of her real brother's, but it lacked the playful energy that he usually possessed. "Beaver, everything you have ever desired is right here. You just have to stay." His button eyes stared at her with a frightening acuity.
Beaver experienced an odd sensation. There was no denying Other Woodland's beauty, and the wonder surrounding her was enthralling. And there was no denying the allure of the idea of a place where everything was ideal, where her friends were constantly content and healthy, and where even the night sky was a magnificent sight.
However, those button eyes... They served as a persistent, unnerving reminder that something was amiss. They only had a steady, unblinking gaze; they lacked warmth and a hint of unique personality. Furthermore, this place's perfection seemed phony, like a masterfully designed replica of something authentic.
Beaver's heart began to churn as her other friends looked up at the Wishing Tree with smiles of peaceful satisfaction. Yes, this location was stunning, but it seemed like a dream—too ideal, too motionless, and devoid of the chaotic, erratic energy of her everyday existence. She shuddered at the unflinching smiles of her other friends and the silent intensity of the other Kit is gaze.
A small voice inside Beaver muttered a warning despite the attraction of this enchanted location. This was not authentic. The place was not home. Additionally, those button eyes possessed a secret that she was still unaware of but that made her feel increasingly apprehensive. No matter how wonderful Other Woodland's night sky was, it could not completely erase the eerie sense that something was horribly, fundamentally wrong.
They saw another well-known face as they strolled through Other Woodland's captivating scenery: Other Mr. Heron. He was standing close to a tree grove that no Beaver had ever seen before. Their branches were loaded with glowing fruit that pulsed with a soft light, and their leaves shimmered with a variety of colors that changed and shifted with each gentle breeze. In contrast to the trees Mr. Heron typically studied in the actual Canadian Woodland, these trees appeared incredibly healthy and vibrant.
"Ah, Beaver, my dear!" Other Mr. Heron greeted her, his voice a calm, familiar baritone. However, there was a faint, nearly imperceptible emphasis on some of his words as he spoke, and his button eyes briefly flashed a strange knowing look. Would you agree that the trees here are pretty... unbelievable? They develop so.. perfectly."
Beaver cocked her head, somewhat perplexed. "Mr. Heron, they are very pretty."
"Indeed," he added, his eyes straying to her other friends who were standing close by, staring at him with blank button eyes. "One could even argue that they are too flawless. The most exquisite things can occasionally conceal painful secrets. Particularly those who appear to give everything without any effort."
With a broad, unwavering smile on his face, the other Franklin abruptly moved closer. "Mr. Heron! Will you show Beaver your gorgeous glowing berries? "They have a flavor reminiscent of sunshine."
The other Mr. Heron's button eyes flitted in Franklin's direction, and the odd, sly gaze reappeared for a moment before vanishing. Naturally, Franklin. Beaver, though, might be more interested in the origins of things first. Being aware of how things develop in reality rather than just how they seem."
With a laugh that was almost but not quite the mischievous laugh of the real Fox, the other Fox laughed. "Roots?" It sounds dull, Mr. Heron! Let's go see the Singing Stream! It plays the prettiest melodies!" He gently tried to steer Beaver away.
Other Mr. Heron remained steadfast, his button eyes now fixed on Beaver. "Have you noticed how... similar everything is here, Beaver, dear? Why does it seem like everyone agrees on everything? Occasionally, the distinctions and peculiarities that give things their uniqueness are the most significant aspects."
With unblinking, wide button eyes, the other Bear lumbered closer. "Beaver, we all adore it here. It is the world's greatest location. After you adjust, you will also love it."
Beaver's brow furrowed slightly. Her other friends' behavior felt a little strange, and Mr. Heron's remarks were a little odd. They appeared almost anxious to prevent her from speaking to him.
In a melodic voice that now sounded a bit too smooth and practiced, the other Goose said, "Mr. Heron is just being silly." "Let us visit the Crystal Cave, Beaver, please! It gleams like lovely stars. She gave Beaver a gentle shove in the other direction.
Other Mr. Heron's eyes remained fixed on Beaver, and he shook his head in a small, barely noticeable way. "Beaver," he said in a quiet yet firm voice, "sometimes a strong clasp can be mistaken for a loving embrace. People who give you everything you have ever wanted without expecting anything in return should be avoided. After pausing for a moment, he added sharply, "Especially those with… buttoned-up feelings."
Beaver blinked, attempting to make out his meaning. Buttoned-up feelings? Did he refer to their eyes? Everything was so unclear.
The other Rabbit hopped impatiently. "Beaver, hurry up! Bubble Trees are something we do not want to miss! The most incredible bubbles that float to the sky are created by them." He gave her arm a tug.
Beaver looked back at Other Mr. Heron as her other friends steered her away with firmness but gentleness. She could not quite make out his expression, but he stood there watching her with button eyes. Was it worry? Melancholy? A warning that goes unheard?
She remembered his final words: "Buttoned-up feelings. People who give you everything without expecting anything in return should be avoided."
His odd words sowed a tiny seed of doubt in her mind, even though she did not fully understand them. Just moments before, Other Woodland's perfection had seemed so alluring, but now it felt a little less magical and a little more... unnerving. Why did her other friends want to take her away from Mr. Heron so quickly? What was meant by her "other mother"?
Beaver found herself viewing everything with a slightly more critical eye as they proceeded on their tour of the Other Woodland, which seemed to be a wonderful place. Now, everything around her seemed a little too perfect to be true, the vivid colors a little too bright, and her other friends' unwavering smiles a little too fixed. Despite their confusion, Mr. Heron's subtle warnings had made her wonder if the world in which she lived was as wonderful as it appeared to be.
With a flourish, the other Franklin pushed open the doors of the Other Woodland Library. "Welcome to the best library you have ever seen, Beaver!"
The library's interior was even more fantastical than the exterior. Spiraling upwards on soft air currents, books represented constellations composed of glowing words on a high arched ceiling. Beaver was intrigued by the titles of the books on the shelves, which were adorned with glistening materials and titles like "The Book of Everlasting Summer," "Tales Woven from Moonlight," and "The Encyclopedia of Imaginary Creatures."
Sitting at a small, round table nearby was Other Mr. Mole. His nose was buried in a book, and his tiny spectacles were balanced on his muzzle, just like the real Mr. Mole. But his fur looked a bit darker than Beaver remembered, and these glasses seemed to gleam with an unnatural gleam.
Beaver then caught sight of the Other Mrs. Goose. She was seated in a cozy armchair with a book on her lap, but she was not actually reading it. She wore chained glasses, just like the real Mrs. Goose, but the chain on this one appeared to be a little off, as though it was not fastened correctly. Additionally, this version of Mrs. Goose wore a pale, grey shawl that appeared to have lost its color in place of the original's warm pink poncho. A broad, unnervingly happy smile was fixed on Beaver with her button eyes.
"Beaver, dear! Welcome, welcome!" A slightly boosted version of the real Mrs. Goose's enthusiastic tone, but one that somehow lacked its authentic warmth, the other Mrs. Goose chirped. "We have been anticipating your arrival! This library is amazing, is not it? You can find all the stories you could ever want right here."
With an unsettling twinkle in her button eyes, she waved her hand around the room. "You can read about chocolate rivers, lollipoop-growing trees, and dragons that breathe starlight! Anything your little heart wants!"
After being unusually silent, the other Kit pulled on Beaver's tail. "Look, Beaver! This book has pictures that move!" A book with colorful illustrations that moved and danced on the page was held up by him.
Other Mr. Mole's button eyes blinked slowly as he finally raised his head from his book. "Indeed," he murmured, his voice a more resonant, deeper version of the quiet tone of the real Mr. Mole. "Here, knowledge is limitless."
The other Franklin bounced on his feet. Come on, Beaver, let us go read the adventure stories! There are stories about courageous heroes and incredible adventures." He had an unwavering excitement in his button eyes.
Other Mrs. Goose got up as her other friends started guiding her to the shelves, her button eyes still locked on Beaver with that broad, unwavering smile. "Dear, did everything at our house go smoothly? Did your other mother look after you well? She spoke in a very sweet, almost saccharine tone.
Beaver gave it some thought. Strange warnings from Mr. Heron about her "other mother" flashed through her mind. "She… she made a very nice dinner," Beaver said slowly, his nerves tingling.
"Oh, what a great cook she is!" The enthusiasm of the other Mrs. Goose sounded a bit too forced. "Everyone is always content and happy thanks to her! Does she not?" Her button eyes seemed to anticipate a specific response as she gave Beaver a pointed look.
The other Fox interrupted Beaver before he could respond, speaking a bit too loudly. "She certainly does! There is no better other mother than her! Now come on, Beaver, let's find a book about invisible unicorns!" He pulled on her arm adamantly.
Beaver remembered Other Mrs. Goose as she was dragged away. Her smile remained broad, but there was a flicker of something unreadable, almost brittle, in her button eyes that did not quite go with the happy face.
After that, she saw that Other Mr. Mole had raised his head from his book once more. This time, as his button eyes locked with Beaver's, he gave the smallest nod toward the library's exit before very quietly tapping the side of his nose with a furry finger.
A shock went through Beaver's heart. What Mr. Heron was he trying to tell her? The strange words of Other Mr. Heron, the odd behavior of her other friends.
Beaver could not help but be a little bit amazed by the Other Woodland Library, even though Other Mr. Heron had sown a tiny seed of unease and her other friends had given her strange vibes. It was like entering one of her favorite storybooks, complete with floating books, tales of starlight dragons, and moving pictures!
She followed the other Fox to an adventure storybook shelf. The titles promised amazing adventures, and the covers glistened with silver and gold. A book about a courageous young squirrel who rode a giant cookie across a sea of lemonade caught her attention. The illustrations came to life as she opened it; the cookie swayed and creaked realistically, and the squirrel's small sailboat bobbed on the glittering waves of lemonade.
"Whoa!" Beaver cried out, forgetting her first fear for a moment. "This is incredible!"
"Is it not?" The other Franklin spoke with unwavering enthusiasm, his button eyes shining. "Beaver, everything here is simply the best. You'll see!"
The other Goose showed her a book in which, each time it was opened, the letters rearranged themselves to tell a different story. She was given a volume by the other Bear that smelled just like freshly made blueberry muffins. Even Kit, who is normally quiet, pointed out a book that had creatures that appeared to jump out of the page.
Beaver spent a considerable amount of time discovering the library's treasures. A pop-up flower bloomed in her hands, releasing a sweet, imaginary scent, and she gasped in awe as she watched a tiny animated knight battle a fearsome (but not too scary) paper dragon. All of this made her laugh.
The other Mrs. Goose's button eyes gleamed as she smiled at her. "Look, sweetheart? This world has so many amazing things, does not it? We only want you to feel content here, along with your brother, father, and other parents."
For a short time Beaver nearly forgot about the odd warnings and the button eyes. It was difficult to ignore this place's sheer wonder and fun. The best aspects of her imagination seemed to have materialized. She pictured how thrilled her real Kit would be to hear about the pop-up creatures and the swimming lemonade sea!
Perhaps, she reasoned, Other Mr. Heron was simply a little grumpy. It is possible that her other friends were genuinely delighted to see her. Surely there was no real cause for fear? In this world, everything was ideal and stories came to life. What could possibly be so awful about that?
Beaver started to feel warm and a part of Other Woodland as the afternoon passed, full of the library's fascinating discoveries. A sense of childlike wonder and growing curiosity began to replace the initial uneasiness. Yes, this place was unique, but it was unique in a magical way. She shared a book of singing flowers with the other Rabbit and found herself grinning, really grinning. She made the decision to just take in all that this other world had to offer for the time being.
The other Franklin declared, "Time for supper, Beaver!" as the enchanted afternoon in the Other Woodland Library came to an end. Your favorite was prepared by your other mother."
Beaver followed her friends back to the mirrored dam house, her mind still full of singing flowers and swirling lemonade seas. As before, the scent of warm, comforting things and sweet berries filled the air from the kitchen.
The other mother greeted her with those unsettling button eyes and that same broad, unflinching smile. Her voice was a little too sweet as she asked, "Did you have a wonderful time at the library, dear?" "Did you come across many beautiful stories?"
Beaver nodded, her lips forming a tiny, sincere smile. "It was amazing," she remarked, recalling the pop-up animals and floating books.
Beaver was led by the other mother to a bedroom that was a perfect replica of her own after a delicious dinner that tasted even better than she remembered. The wooden floor was streaked with silvery light from the moon, and the air was filled with the familiar cedar scent.
"Time for sleep, my sweet Beaver," the other mother said, her button eyes gleaming in the gentle moonlight. Her touch felt oddly similar to her real mother's, but somehow... less warm, as she tucked Beaver into the comfortable bed. With a small laugh that fell short of her button eyes, she added, "Sleep tight, and do not let the bedbugs bite!"
Beaver curled up under the covers with a peculiar mixture of satisfaction and a persistent sense of unease. She began to forget about the wonders of the other world as she fell asleep.
Then, she woke up.
The soft rustle of leaves in the night breeze, the distant, soothing murmur of the dam, and the soft chirping of crickets outside her window were all familiar sounds from the real Woodland. The same silvery stripes were reflected on her wooden floor by the moonlight streaming through her window.
With her heart thumping a little, she sat up. Had it all been a dream? But the memory of the floating books and the button eyes felt so real.
Looking around her room, which she knew well, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Everything had been exactly as she remembered. The smooth river stone pile on the windowsill and her incomplete dragonfly drawing on her desk are both authentic and uniquely hers.
She leaped to her feet at a thought. Her paws fumbling in her hurry, she hurried to her bookshelf. Her whiskers quirked in the cool, still air as she crammed herself into the small gap between the wall and the shelf.
And there it was.
The small door was flush with the log wall, concealed behind a loose piece of bark. The moonlight gave a faint gleam to the tarnished brass handle. It was authentic. There was still the passage to that other world.
A chill went through Beaver's body. Now that she was in the quiet reality of her own room, the wonders of the other Woodland seemed less magical and more... unsettling. She recalled those button eyes' unwavering stare and the odd words of Other Mr. Heron.
Reaching behind the bookshelf, Beaver extracted one of her father's smooth, grey river stones, a particularly large and flat one, with a renewed sense of resolve. She inserted it carefully into the tiny door's narrow opening, obstructing the passage. The secret was then once again hidden as she pushed the bookshelf back against the wall.
Beaver was certain of one thing as she stood there, the smell of damp earth and cedar filling her nostrils: that small door concealed a secret that, for the time being, was best kept hidden behind the whispering wood of her own, actual home.