Screech!

The firebird is coming back.

“Don’t look down!”

Logan pulls himself up onto the ledge. He looks like he might pass out.

“I said not to look!”

“I’m feeling woozy.”

“This is no time to panic! Just do what I do and step in the same places,” I say soothingly. “I climb trees all the time at home. We’re going to be fine.”

Screech!

“As long as we move fast!” I climb over the side and hang down. My feet graze the first limb. From this height, I can see the clearing and the firebird is on the approach. “Let’s go!”

Branch by branch, we start to descend. When I look through the tree branches, I see the firebird has something—or someone—hanging from its claws.

“Stay down,” I whisper to Logan, who is a few branches above me.

We hear a thud in the nest above followed by a scream. I close my eyes tight, wondering what could be happening, but a moment later we hear the bird take off again. Then we hear sobbing.

“Who’s up there?” I shout.

“I’m stuck!” It’s the soft-spoken mouse with the blue bandana. “Who is that? My leg is stuck! Help!”

I take a deep breath and look at Logan. We can’t leave that mouse behind, no matter how much we may want to. I pull myself back up to her and look over the side. The mouse is tangled in some string the firebird must have used to make the nest. The mouse looks surprised to see me. “You!” she says almost accusingly.

“Yes, me.” I bristle. “We need to get you out of here.”

“I know that! I can do it myself,” she says, struggling to unwind the string she’s stuck in. It’s not working.

I look around the nest and spy some twigs. “A piece of bark might work.”

“Not strong enough,” the mouse says as it continues to struggle against the vines. “You need a holly bush branch or something thorny. Look harder.”

How rude. I am the one saving her, aren’t I? I run my hands along the top of the nest, feeling for a material I could cut with. I wish I had time to really examine the nest—it’s beautifully woven—but that firebird was not friendly, and it could be back any second. My hand brushes against something thick—a rosebush vine! I yank it out of the nest wall and run over to the blue mouse.

“That’s going to take forever,” it says. “Here, let me try.” It reaches for the vine.

I pull it away. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I live in the forest. I think I know how to do this better than you do.”

“I’ve grown up in the forest,” I counter, starting to wonder why I climbed back up here. “I know what I’m doing too.”

“Are you two almost done?” I hear Logan’s faint voice come from below. “Because I’d really like to get out of here.”

I rub the thorn against the vine faster. “Almost…there…” Snap! It breaks. We both reach to unwind the string around the mouse’s leg.