By Candy Ray
The wild hunters raced down the hill on horseback to the place where the bell that was in the wrong story lay in the long grass.
Without a word they smashed the bell, and a dull DONG rang across the wild wood, followed by a splintering thud. But smashing it hadn’t mended the tear that leaked greenery into the story underneath and let a little jagged void space seep in and lick around the tree roots.
The broken bell fell through the tear, and then from its own story it could be heard ringing once again.