The Mosaic Tiles Keep Shifting

Flufalo knelt in the community garden, their wooden clogs pressing into the soft earth. They arranged smooth river stones around a new flower bed, creating a simple border pattern—dark, light, dark, light—just like the stripes on their cream and chocolate fur.

"Flufalo! Come quick!" called Pepper, a energetic squirrel who always spoke in exclamations. "Mayor Oakwood needs help at the town square!"

At the square, hundreds of colorful mosaic tiles lay scattered. "We're making a giant picture for the Harvest Festival," Mayor Oakwood explained, gesturing with his walking stick. "A sunflower, six feet tall!"

Flufalo's dark eyes widened. Their friend Star, a shy rabbit, was already sorting tiles by color. "I'll help," Flufalo said softly, pulling a planning sketch from their apron pocket.

They worked all day. By sunset, the golden sunflower gleamed—yellow petals in a circle, brown center, green stem. Perfect.

But next morning, Pepper shrieked, "Everything's wrong-wrong-WRONG!" The tiles had rearranged into diagonal stripes. Their careful picture had vanished.