Every squirrel on the island is buzzing about collecting nuts, up and down trees, over the forest floor. Apple is sitting on a rock by the beach telling her her tales to the youngsters and holding her hat on. Every now and again she takes her paws off her hat and a gust of wind whisks it away, pursued by every young squirrel on the island.
Really, they're keeping her out of the way because Sepia and I are planning a surprise. More very soon. I just have to - oh, plague! I've just knocked over a bottle of her cordial and my eyes are watering already.
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