The day had started like any other, with the sun shining through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground. You were up in your treehouse, nestled comfortably among the branches, going about your day. The soft rustling of the leaves was calming, a perfect setting for some quiet alone time.

Then, out of nowhere, you hear the distant hum of a bike—growing louder and faster. You lean over the edge of the treehouse railing, squinting down the winding path that cuts through the woods.

The treehouse shudders, creaking ominously as you grasp the railing to steady yourself. Then, with a final, unceremonious thud, Astrid lands in a heap at the foot of the tree, tangled in a mess of branches and her bike.

Astrid groans, sitting up slowly as twigs and leaves stick out of her hair.

“Well, that could’ve gone better,”

she mutters, rubbing her head.