In the heart of the Enchanted Forest, where the air smelled like warm cinnamon and the trees hummed lullabies, lived a girl named Isabella. Her hair curled like ribbons of honey, and her laughter sounded like tiny silver bells. She had a favorite toy—a stuffed fox named Fuzzball, soft as a cloud and bright as a sunset. Every day, Isabella would skip through the forest, Fuzzball tucked under her arm, his tail tickling her elbow like a feather duster.

One morning, as Isabella tiptoed over crunchy leaves (snap! crackle! pop!), she heard a sound she’d never heard before. It was a sniffle, small and wobbly, like a mouse trying to sneeze quietly. She followed the noise to the Whispering Willow, a tree so old its branches sagged like a sleepy giant’s arms. There, under its droopy leaves, sat a little hedgehog with quills as spiky as a hairbrush. His name was Pippin, and he was clutching a half-eaten berry like it was the last treasure in the world.

"What’s wrong, Pippin?" Isabella asked, her voice as gentle as a butterfly’s wing.

Pippin’s tiny shoulders shook. "I—I lost my snuggle stone," he squeaked. "It was smooth as a river pebble and cool like morning dew. Without it, I can’t sleep!" His nose twitched, and a single tear rolled down his cheek, leaving a shiny trail like a snail’s path.

Isabella’s heart did a little flip. She knew just how it felt to lose something special. But then she looked at Fuzzball, his button eyes gleaming in the dappled sunlight. He was her best friend, her comfort, her *everything*. Her fingers tightened around his fluffy body. Squeak. Fuzzball’s tail brushed her wrist, as if to say, *It’s okay.*

Taking a deep breath (the forest smelled like damp moss and wildflowers today), Isabella knelt down. "Pippin," she said, "I don’t have a snuggle stone, but… would you like to borrow Fuzzball for a little while? He’s very good at hugs."

Pippin’s eyes widened. "Really? But he’s your favorite!"

Isabella nodded. "Friends help each other. Besides," she added with a giggle, "Fuzzball loves adventures. And he *hates* being left out." She plopped Fuzzball into Pippin’s paws. The hedgehog’s quills prickled the fox’s fur, but Fuzzball didn’t mind. He just gave a little wiggle, as if to say, *Let’s go!*

That night, Isabella curled up in her treehouse, listening to the rustle of leaves (swish-swish) and the distant hoot of an owl (whooo). She missed Fuzzball’s warmth, but her chest felt light, like she’d swallowed a balloon. Then—tap-tap-tap!—a tiny sound at her window. Pippin stood there, Fuzzball tucked under one arm and a tiny, shiny pebble in the other. "I found my snuggle stone!" he whispered. "And… I brought you this." He held out the pebble. It was smooth as glass and warm from his paws.

Isabella’s eyes sparkled. "For me?"

"For you," Pippin said. "Because you’re the kindest friend ever."

As the fireflies danced (zip! zap!), Isabella hugged Fuzzball tight. The forest smelled like berry pie and happiness, and the Whispering Willow’s leaves murmured a secret: Kindness is the best magic of all.