Momo the cloud bunny had spent all afternoon planning the perfect sky picnic. There would be cinnamon cocoa, moon cookies, a blanket wide enough for everyone, and—most important—no rushing. "A picnic is not a race," Momo told the wind as she fluffed a silver cloud into a flat little meadow. Still, her ears twitched with excitement. Hosting felt like a big responsibility when you were small and fluffy. She double-checked the guest list in her head: lambs, moth, maybe a shy breeze if it promised not to tip the cups.