The clearing had become a small celebration of its own.
Centaurs compared their horseshoes, turning their hooves this way and that, arguing playfully over whose looked best.
The little ones had declared a competition—"Best Hooves in the Village"—and were busy awarding themselves points for increasingly absurd reasons.
"I have the shiniest ones!"
"I have the clickiest ones!"
"I have the most symmetrical nail holes!"
"That's not even a real category!"
"It is now!"
But eventually, a new realization began to dawn on the gathered centaurs, one by one.
"Wait." one of the mothers said slowly, looking around. "Did anyone...cook dinner?"
A heavy silence fell over the crowd.
"I was supposed to start the stew." Someone admitted.
"And I was going to bake the bread."
"And I was on vegetable duty."
"And I—" Another centaur's stomach let out a growl so loud it echoed off the nearby trees. "Oh no. I forgot completely!"
