The Slowest Tortoise in the Race

Every year, the animals of Mossy Hollow held the Great Meadow Race. It started at the old oak tree and ended at the sparkling pond on the other side of the hill. Everyone came — the rabbits, the foxes, the deer, even the field mice — and everyone cheered, and everyone ran as fast as they possibly could.

Everyone except Horatio.

Horatio was a tortoise. A small, round, greenish-brown tortoise with a shell that looked like somebody had painted a map on it. He had short, stumpy legs that moved about as fast as a yawn on a Sunday afternoon.

And this year, for the very first time, Horatio had signed up for the race.

"You're joking," said Felix the fox, who had won the race three years in a row. His legs were long and golden and practically bouncy.

"I'm not joking," said Horatio.

"But you'll lose," said Remy the rabbit, twitching his nose. "You'll lose by a LOT. I mean — no offense — but I could run the whole thing, come back, take a nap, and you'd still be near the oak tree."

"Probably," said Horatio.

Remy blinked. "And that doesn't... bother you?"

Horatio thought about it. "Nope."

The morning of the race was bright and cool. Dew still clung to the grass, and the whole meadow smelled like clover and adventure. Twenty-three animals lined up at the old oak tree, stretching their legs and shaking out their paws. Horatio took his place at the starting line, right between a very anxious squirrel and a deer who kept accidentally stepping on him.

"Sorry," said the deer.

"That's okay," said Horatio, pulling his foot out from under a hoof. "Happens all the time."

Old Badger blew the starting whistle, and WHOOOOSH — twenty-two animals burst forward like seeds popping from a dandelion. Dust flew. Tails streamed. The crowd went wild.

Horatio took one step.

Then another.

Then another.

By the time the other racers had disappeared over the first hill, Horatio was about six feet from the oak tree. The crowd had mostly wandered off to follow the fast animals. A few crickets chirped politely.

"This is nice," said Horatio to himself.

He wasn't looking at the path ahead. He was looking around. Because here's the thing about Horatio — he had a plan, and his plan had absolutely nothing to do with winning.

Horatio had spent his whole life watching the Great Meadow Race. Every year, the animals sprinted so fast that the meadow was nothing but a blur to them. They never saw the meadow at all. They only saw the finish line.

But Horatio knew the meadow. He knew every inch of it. And he knew that between the old oak tree and the sparkling pond, there were wonders.

He ambled along the trail, and about ten minutes in, he stopped. Right there, half-hidden in the tall grass, was a patch of wild strawberries — tiny, red, and sweet as sugar. Horatio ate one. It was perfect.

A little field mouse named Pip came scurrying back along the trail, looking upset. She had tripped over a root early in the race and twisted her ankle, and now she was limping home, trying not to cry.

"Strawberry?" offered Horatio.

Pip sniffled. "I didn't even finish the race."

"Neither did I," said Horatio. "And I probably won't. But these strawberries are really something."

Pip sat down and ate a strawberry. Then she ate another. Her eyes got wide.

"These are the best strawberries I've ever had," she said.

"Right?" said Horatio. "Want to walk with me for a bit? There's more good stuff ahead."

So they walked together. Slowly. Horatio told Pip about the time he'd found a perfectly round stone near the creek bed, and Pip told Horatio about her seventeen brothers and sisters, which sounded exhausting.

When they reached the creek, Horatio stopped again. "Look," he whispered.

There, sitting on a rock in the middle of the water, was a bright blue dragonfly with wings like stained glass. It sat perfectly still, and the sunlight caught its wings and threw tiny rainbows across the stones.

"Whoa," breathed Pip.

They watched it for a long, quiet moment. The dragonfly lifted off, circled once around Horatio's shell, and zipped away.

Up ahead, they found Remy the rabbit sitting on a log, looking grumpy. He had been running so fast that he'd taken a wrong turn, and now two other rabbits had passed him, and he was sure he'd lost his chance at the trophy.

"What's the point of even finishing?" Remy muttered.

"Well," said Horatio, "there's a family of ducks around the next bend that is very funny. The littlest one keeps falling in the mud."

"I don't care about ducks," said Remy.

"Okay," said Horatio, and he and Pip kept walking.

About thirty seconds later, they heard Remy's feet behind them.

"I guess I'll just... walk with you for a minute," Remy mumbled. "Just for a MINUTE."

Around the bend, they found the ducks. The littlest one fell in the mud with a spectacular SPLAT, then looked up with the most bewildered expression any duck has ever made. Remy laughed so hard he fell off the path.

They kept going. The three of them. Slowly.

Horatio showed them the spot where the trail passed through a tunnel of honeysuckle, and the air was so sweet it made you dizzy. He showed them the flat rock where, if you pressed your ear against it, you could hear the hum of something deep underground — maybe water, maybe the earth itself, just humming along.

"How do you know about all this stuff?" asked Remy.

"I walk through here all the time," said Horatio. "When you go slow, you see a lot."

More animals joined them. A fox who'd pulled a muscle. A squirrel who'd simply gotten tired of running. A young deer who admitted, quietly, that she'd never actually liked racing but didn't know what else to do on Race Day.

By the time Horatio finally reached the sparkling pond, he had eleven animals walking with him. The race had been over for more than an hour. Felix the fox had already won his trophy and was posing for the crowd, though the crowd had gotten considerably smaller.

Horatio's group arrived at the pond just as the late afternoon light turned everything gold. The water was still and glassy, and it reflected the sky so perfectly that it looked like you could step right into the clouds.

"I've run past this pond four times," said Felix, padding over with his trophy, "and I never noticed it looks like that."

"It does this every afternoon," said Horatio.

Everyone stood there for a moment, watching the golden water. Pip ate her last strawberry. Remy's nose had stopped twitching for the first time all day. The young deer let out a long, slow breath and smiled.

"Horatio," said Felix, "you came in dead last."

"I know," said Horatio.

"By over an hour."

"I know."

Felix looked at the pond, then at the group of animals still gathered around the little tortoise, then back at the pond.

"Same time next year?" Felix asked.

Horatio smiled his slow, warm, tortoise smile.

"I'll be here," he said. "I'm always here."

That night, walking home under a sky full of stars — slowly, of course — Horatio found one more wild strawberry growing right beside the path. He ate it.

It was the best one yet.