Flap-flap, swoosh. Rue the Bluebird flew above the trees, her red scarf flowing behind her like a ribbon. She circled, then landed on a high branch, looking out across the valley.

Clover the rabbit hopped up the hill below, with her ears twitching. “Rue, how do you know where to go when you fly so far? The forest looks so big to me!”

Rue puffed out her chest. “Ah, that’s my secret. Birds use the sky as a compass.”

Clover’s nose twitched. “A compass? Like the little needle that points north?”

Rue nodded. “Yes, but ours is painted with sun, stars, and even the earth itself. In the day, we follow the sun across the sky. At night, migrating birds look to the stars, especially the North Star, to stay on track.”

Clover’s eyes grew wide. “You mean you can read the sky?”

Rue laughed softly. “Exactly. And even when clouds cover the stars, we feel the pull of Earth’s magnetic field inside our very bones. It whispers which way is north and which way is south.”

Clover crouched, whispering in awe. “That’s amazing… the sky tells you where home is...”

Rue nodded gently. “Every bird carries a compass inside. And every time I fly, I remember, the world always leaves us clues if we learn to listen.”

Above them, the wind rushed. Whooshh. The clouds drifted, and the first evening stars peeked through, twinkle-twinkle, like tiny lanterns guiding the way.

Rue lifted her wings. “Come on, Clover. Let’s follow the sky!”