In the heart of the Moonpine Forest lived a young lynx named Lynx, a roguishly handsome boy by woodland standards—sleek silvery coat, tufted ears always twitching with curiosity, and bright gold eyes that shimmered like dawn. Lynx was brave, clever, and endlessly charming, though occasionally far too confident for his own good.
One crisp evening, he padded through the undergrowth toward the Crescent Clearing, where his best friend, Luna, a gentle moon-spirit doe, gathered shimmering droplets of Luna Milk—a luminous nectar produced only when moonlight touched her silver antlers. The magical liquid healed wounds, brightened dreams, and filled creatures with soft warmth. Luna offered it freely to those who truly needed it, but the moon did not shine strong every night, and her energy was limited.
Lynx, however, was not wounded nor weary. He simply wanted a taste.
He approached the clearing with an exaggerated limp, dragging one paw dramatically. “Oh Luna,” he croaked, “I fear I’m faint with exhaustion. Perhaps… just a sip of your Luna Milk?”
Luna looked at him flatly. “You’re limping on different paws every time I see you.”
Lynx froze, recalculated, and switched paws again just to prove the point. “See? Terrible condition.”
“Lynx,” she sighed, “you’re perfectly healthy.”
“But look!” He flopped onto the moss, paws spread wide, gazing up with his most pitiful expression—one he’d practiced in puddles. “I am but a poor, handsome boy suffering from great thirst!”
Luna laughed, her antlers crackling softly with pale light. “Flattery doesn’t work every day. Luna Milk is for healing, not snacking.”
“But have you seen how handsome I am?” Lynx insisted, fluffing his chest fur until he resembled a startled dandelion. “Surely that earns a small reward!”
