The midday sun sat heavy over the meadow where Buttercup and his young trio were grazing. “Can you head back and check on Mum? I’ll be a tad later,” he bleated softly. After a moment’s fuss, since they would much rather have stayed to frolic around their father, Bramble, Clover, and Aster finally obeyed.

“Stay together, stay alert, and do not linger,” Buttercup cautioned. With a final nod, he sent them on their way.

Bramble immediately took the lead. “I’m the eldest, the smartest, and the strongest!” he declared, his small horns itching for a tussle. “I’ll lead us through the Echo Caves. I remember the way.”

As they entered the cool, damp mouth of the cavern, the darkness swallowed them whole. Driven by a mix of bravado and nerves, Bramble let out a massive “MAAA!” The sound bounced off the jagged walls: Maa… maa… maa…

“Stop it!” Clover hissed, her ears swiveling to catch the drip of water. “You’re drowning out the sounds of the mountain. We need to listen!”

“I’m just testing the stone!” Bramble teased, letting out an even louder bleat. He skipped ahead, headbutting a loose rock to hear it clatter. Clover sighed, staying close to Aster, who was already lagging behind. 

“Bramble, wait up!” Clover called out, turning her attention to her overzealous brother to scold him. “Always charging ahead without thinking of others! So selfish!”

“Just keep up! Dad said no lingering,” Bramble retorted with a mischievous laugh.

Clover huffed, then turned back to check on Aster.

He wasn’t there.

A sharp, cold prickle of panic hit her chest. “Aster? Aster! Aster!”

Bramble finally stopped. The silence that followed was heavier than any noise he had been making. They searched the cave, their little hooves clicking frantically against the stone. 

At last, they found him in a side-chamber, sitting perfectly still as if hypnotised by a moth that had landed on his nose.

“Why didn’t you answer us?!” Bramble bellowed, even though his tail was tucked between his legs in fright.

“I couldn’t,” Aster whispered. “I would have scared the silver-wings.”

The moth took flight of its own accord, gracefully rejoining its fellows. Aster continued to watch, mesmerised.

Clover stepped between them. “No more games. We are lost, and it’s because we weren’t working as a team.” She darted furious looks at both her brothers.

They stood at a crossroads of three tunnels. In the dim light, every path looked identical. “Think,” Clover commanded. “Where are we? How do we find our way back?”

Bramble pointed to the left. “I think I remember that rock. I scuffed it with my hoof when I was jumping.”

Clover sniffed the air. “No, the air is drier that way. The barn is near the stream; we need the tunnel that smells like damp moss.”

Aster looked up. “The ceiling over there has the three stars of salt.” He pointed to three white mineral deposits. “They were behind us when we started our return.”

By combining Clover’s logic and Aster’s observations, they began the trek back. They moved as a single unit: Bramble at the front (quietly, for once), Aster in the middle, and Clover acting as the bodyguard at the rear.

As they crested the final hill, the barn glowed orange in the setting sun. They burst through the doors just as the first stars appeared. Their mother, Marigold, looked up from the hay.

“Mother! You won’t believe it!” Bramble shouted. “I fought the shadows of the cave and led us home with my incredible memory!”

“Only because I corrected your steering!” Clover countered. “I had to track the scent of the home-winds to keep us from walking off a ledge!”

Aster smiled dreamily, nibbling a bit of straw. “The moths told me a secret map, and I showed them the stars on the ceiling.”

Marigold laughed, nuzzling each of them in turn. 

But over their heads, she saw a shadow in the doorway. Buttercup stood there, his coat covered in dust and burrs. 

He had spent the afternoon lurking in the crags, silently nudging loose rocks away from their path and standing guard in the shadows while they argued.

He didn’t need the credit. He gave Marigold a tired, proud wink and settled into the straw, listening to his children brag about how “brave” they had been all on their own.

It was, after all, the first time they had made the journey by themselves; or so they thought.