It was a rare, perfect day in Luminvale. The sun was bright but not bossy, the breeze smelled faintly of fresh herbs and pie crust, and—perhaps most miraculously—Milo had gone three whole days without accidentally enchanting breakfast.
So naturally, it was picnic time.
"I've packed sandwiches, tea, a suspiciously bouncy flan, and exactly zero experimental potions," Milo announced proudly, holding up a neatly wrapped basket.
Luca peeked inside. "No surprise cupcakes? No emotional mushrooms? Not even a regret tart?"
"Nope," Milo said, puffing up. "Just food. Real, edible, non-talking, non-glowing food."
"Boring," Luca grinned. "I love it."
Alma skipped beside them, arms full of picnic blankets and a hefty field guide titled 'Magical Flora and Their Inappropriate Behaviors.'
"I brought conversation cards, just in case the grass tries to chat again," she chirped.
Milo gave her a Look. "That was one time, and I apologized to the lawn."
The trio made their way to Honeydrop Hill, a gentle slope just outside the village dotted with clover and shaded by a ring of whispering willow trees. A tiny creek giggled nearby. It was the kind of place you'd expect in a storybook—or a tea commercial.
Luca immediately flopped onto the blanket, arms stretched. "This is the life. No dancing, no glowing. Just me, the sun, and this suspiciously shiny sandwich."
Alma poured tea like a ceremony master, delicate and focused. "So what do we do at a picnic?"
Milo blinked. "...We eat. And relax."
"That's it?"
"Exactly."
It was, of course, too peaceful to last.
---
Milo had just bitten into a strawberry tart when a tiny voice yelled, "Objection! Objection!"
Three squirrels in matching acorn-helmets burst from the underbrush and circled the picnic blanket.
"Uh… hi?" Milo said, mouth full.
The lead squirrel pointed a stick at him. "You're trespassing on sacred wedding grounds!"
"Wedding?" Alma blinked.
"You've desecrated the ceremonial clover circle!" another squeaked.
Luca leaned toward Milo. "So… are squirrel weddings legally binding?"
Before Milo could answer, a fourth squirrel with a bejeweled mushroom cap scampered forward.
"Fear not, Lady Hazel," it said dramatically, "the intruders shall be dealt with… or recruited!"
Milo was mid-sip of tea when the recruited part sank in.
"Wait. Wait wait wait. You're not going to—"
"You shall be guests of honor!" declared the lead squirrel.
"Oh no."
"Wait," Luca perked up. "Do we get costumes?"
---
The next thing Milo knew, he was in a flower crown, seated beside Alma (wearing a cape made of moss) and Luca (who had somehow acquired a monocle and chestnut cravat).
Dozens of squirrels scampered in precise choreography, weaving garlands, polishing nut-sized bells, and practicing their wedding march with squeaky little instruments.
"This is... kind of adorable," Alma whispered, beaming.
Milo sat frozen. "Why are they involving us?! I was just trying to eat a sandwich!"
"Because," Luca whispered, "you unwittingly blessed the sacred ground with a flaky crust offering. You basically catered their wedding."
Alma nodded seriously. "You are holding a tart of union."
Milo stared at his half-eaten pastry. "...I hate symbolism."
---
The bride, a dainty gray squirrel named Lady Hazel, wore a veil made of dandelion fluff. The groom, Lord Nibbles, carried a peanut like a bouquet.
They exchanged vows atop a twig alter made from an old matchbox, and the officiant—a blind vole with a flower-staff—spoke in riddles no one understood, but everyone pretended to.
"Do you take this nut to be your eternal acorn?" the vole rasped.
"I do!" squeaked Hazel.
"I... nibble," Lord Nibbles replied.
The crowd cheered.
Acorns rained from above.
A squirrel quartet played the "Squeaky Waltz."
Milo clutched his tea and whispered, "I am dreaming. This is an almond-induced dream. None of this is real."
"Too late," Luca said, tossing confetti made from bark shavings. "You're now an honorary cousin."
"What?!"
A squirrel patted Milo's shoe and squeaked approvingly.
---
The reception was held near the creek. The "dance floor" was a flat stone smoothed by years of skipping rocks. Alma was taught the ceremonial nut-toss. Luca somehow won a cheese-wheel raffle. Milo was offered a gnarled root to carve his initials into—an apparent rite of family bonding.
"I am NOT marrying into squirrel royalty," he said, as yet another nut crown was placed on his head.
"Too late, Cousin Milo," Luca said with a solemn wink. "You've already been entered into the acorn registry."
The reception food consisted of dewdrop cider, tiny berry cakes, and something that might've been pickled moss. Milo tried a polite nibble.
He immediately regretted it.
Alma, however, was sparkling. "They even have a guestbook! Look, I signed us in as Potion Folk of the Valley Grasslands."
"That sounds exotic," Luca said. "Maybe we can rent ourselves out for mystical weddings."
"Absolutely not," Milo muttered, wiping berry foam from his lips.
---
The final event was the Ritual of Whisker Blessings.
It involved squirrel elders brushing their tails against Milo's forehead while chanting.
He sat still, eyes closed, whispering, "I am a leaf. I am a mushroom. I am not here."
Luca filmed it with Alma's sketchpad and threatened to turn it into a flipbook.
When the ceremony concluded, the couple scampered off into a hollow tree trunk filled with rose petals and walnut jam.
Milo bowed politely and tried to sneak away.
He made it four steps before a squirrel elder stopped him.
"You must take the parting gift," it squeaked reverently.
"Oh, that's sweet," Alma said. "A memento!"
The squirrel presented a single peanut... wrapped in shimmering cobweb silk and tied with a wildflower stem.
Milo took it slowly. "Is it cursed?"
"No," the elder squeaked. "It's sacred."
Milo tucked it into his pouch and muttered, "Please don't hatch into something."
---
Back on their picnic blanket, as the squirrel festivities faded behind them, the trio collapsed with laughter.
"I—" Milo gasped, still wearing the crown, "—I just wanted to eat jam."
"And now you're squirrel nobility," Luca said, biting into a tart.
Alma giggled, flipping through her notes. "According to woodland folklore, being blessed at a squirrel wedding grants you one year of excellent luck and improved reflexes."
Milo stared. "Seriously?"
"No," she grinned. "I made that up."
They all burst into laughter again.
The sun dipped lower, casting golden rays through the trees as Milo finally got a bite of his sandwich—still warm, still safe, and, thankfully, still silent.
No talking soup.
No dancing legs.
Just three friends, a picnic, and the afterglow of one very weird woodland wedding.
Milo leaned back on the blanket and let out a deep sigh of contentment.
"...Okay," he muttered. "That was actually kind of fun."
A squirrel poked its head out from the bushes.
"See you at the anniversary party, Cousin!"
Milo shrieked.