Soft winds blew across Odin’s freckled face and ruffled his beard, waking him from sleep. He sat upright and stretched, enjoying the sun’s warmth as it fell on his sleepy body. Punga was wide awake in spite of the bright sun. All night the little cricket had been miserable. Now that Odin was up and about, Punga yanked on his beard to get his attention. Climbing as close to Odin’s ear as possible, he anxiously told his friend he had seen the banshee in the woods and, although she did not speak, he feared it was a warning.

  Odin stood up, nagging fear biting at his stomach. Suddenly, rosy sweet apples hanging on the crabapple tree appeared to have wrinkled and cruel faces. The arguing bullfrog, respected by Odin, now seemed loud and ugly; maybe they did have whiskers and bat wings after all. Even the warm sun was disappearing behind gray clouds. Anxiety, like a thief, was stealing his courage. Odin, determined once more to face the unknown, broke into his slow but steady trot northward. Punga, still fretting about the banshee’s visit and mumbling about the meaning, was finally overwhelmed by drowsiness. His words faded away as he snuggled down to sleep in Odin’s beard.

  When the sun peeked through the clouds, its rays dappled a well-worn path. Perhaps the banshee’s visit was a good omen. Trusting this thought, he decided to follow the narrow trail. Surely someone or something would appear.

  Trees, bending and creaking with the wind, bowed low over the path creating a welcoming tunnel. He listened intently to the papery rustle of dragonfly wings as they passed his large ears. In the nearby branches he heard the banjo-twang of green tree frogs happily singing to each other; their life seemed so carefree. The bog’s moist, warm air was alive with the whisper of sedges gracefully swaying in the breeze. Odin felt that his own odyssey blended into the woodland’s symphonic sounds.

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  Spotting a wild rose bush, he stopped to pick off a few honey ants. Odin knew their round bellies were full of the sugar they sucked from the plants; the ants would taste like sugarberries. As the sweetness burst in his mouth, he thought of Laelia. He could see her lavender eyes lighting up when she found honey ants. He remembered how she loved to pick them off a bush and tease him while popping the succulent ants into his mouth. He recalled her kind nature. With her songs and gentle personality, she captivated even the ferocious bears that ruled the woods of Mt. Grieg. He thought back to a time when he and Laelia were in the mountain forest and saw a great bear foraging for food. The bear, after uprooting a tree trunk, was licking up swarms of ants. His small ears wiggled just so slightly upon hearing Laelia’s enchanting voice. After a while, the noble bear turned and slowly meandered back into the denseness of the woods, with never a thought to harm Laelia. Odin’s blue eyes faded with tears that spilled onto his beard as he thought of his sister. Punga, whose sleep was briefly disturbed by his friend’s tears, buried himself a little deeper into the thick whiskers.

  Eventually, the friendly path twisted beyond the bog’s black, wet soil and emptied into a terrain of eerie landforms. Spread out in front of Odin was a boundless sea of dry, white sand. Taken aback by the sight and momentarily halting, he then trotted straight into the land of sand. He sensed it had a strength that would test his courage.