On Flavor Island, where the trees smell like warm caramel and the rivers sing with a glug-glug sound like a freshly opened bottle of soda, lived a boy named Isidor. His curly hair looked like springy clockwork coils, and his restless feet went flick-flack in his oversized sandals.

One morning, as the sun stretched its golden rays like honey dripping from a giant spoon, Isidor decided to explore the Spice Forest. Oh! The air smelled of toasted ginger and cinnamon—just like a massive baking cake. Crack! A twig snapped under his foot, and poof! a cloud of cocoa powder rose up, tickling his nose. He sneezed so hard that his hat—a lucky old red beret—flew away like a leaf in the gale. Ziiip!

"Oh no! My favorite hat!" Isidor cried, darting after it.

He ran and ran until the trees became a blur and the scents began to tangle: sour lemon, sweet vanilla, and… yuck! a smell like wet socks. Gulp. He stopped dead. No more path. No more landmarks. Only vines that tickled his arms like ghost fingers, and a silence so thick he could hear his own heart going boom-boom like a drum.

"I’m lost," he whispered, huddling with his knees against his chest.

Suddenly, froufrou! A little squirrel with cheeks puffed out like balloons appeared on a branch. In his paws, he held… Isidor’s red beret!

"You look like a cake that forgot its own recipe," the squirrel said, tilting his head. "Need a helping paw?"

Isidor burst into a laugh. "Yes, please! But… what’s your name?"

"I am Zest, the Guardian of Scents! Sniff-sniff. You smell like fear, but also like courage. Come, I’ll show you the way."

Zest leaped from branch to branch, leaving a trail of scented sparkles behind him. Pschiiit! Isidor followed, occasionally tripping over roots that seemed to be playing leapfrog. Bam! He landed in a puddle of maple syrup, sticky as glue. Yum! He licked his fingers—at least he wouldn't go hungry.

Finally, they arrived at a cave whose entrance was draped in flowers that smelled like strawberry bubblegum. Dring-dring! A chime of bells tinkled, and an old tortoise appeared, her shell as shiny as glazed candy.

"Welcome, little human," she said in a raspy voice. "Here, one only gets lost if they forget to look around. Look."

She blew on a leaf, and poof! a map appeared, traced in powdered sugar. "This is Flavor Island. You are here, and your village is over there. Just follow your nose… and your heart."

Isidor thanked Zest and the tortoise, then took a deep breath. The air smelled of warm bread and raspberry jam. Hop! He set off skipping, dodging the sugary traps this time. Plop! He slipped in a puddle of orange juice but caught himself on a vine that felt just like a jump rope.

When he finally reached home, his mother was waiting on the doorstep with her arms crossed. "Isidor! Did you forget your hat again?"

He smiled, pulled the red beret from his pocket—a bit rumpled, but safe—and handed it to her. "No, Mother. This time, I brought it back… and I learned something."

"What’s that?"

"That being lost is just an adventure that hasn't found its way yet."

And under the stars that twinkled like sugar sprinkles, Isidor fell asleep dreaming of scented forests and squirrel friends, his belly full of imaginary cake.