Abigail’s mind swirled with questions as she clinked her crystal wine glass against Quinn’s, the pure, melodic chime of the heavily leaded glass transporting her back in time. It was a sound that had always been music to her ears, evoking cherished memories of her mother and momentarily interrupting her musings about whether the imaginary could indeed be real.

Quinn’s toast, “To old friends—and new beginnings,” gently pulled Abigail back to the present, the lingering resonance of the glass still echoing in her ears and thoughts. Her first sip of wine was followed swiftly by a gulp, after which Abigail couldn’t hold back any longer. Her questions poured out in a rapid cascade.

ABIGAIL: “Quinn, you’re right. It has been seven years since I said goodbye to Sebastian, Sabrina, and Willie. But how do you know about them—and their descendants? Do you also know what became of the infamous groundhog, General Beauregard Lee? And what about the beavers and Embla?”

QUINN: “All in due time. Let’s tackle these questions one sip at a time. First, let me tell you about your counterpart—or should I say your ‘other half.’ She’s one of the most important characters of all.”

Abigail tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. Hmmm, to whom was Quinn referring? DJ, my better half, until death do us part, passed away seventeen years ago. But Quinn didn’t say “better half.” Instead, “counterpart” or “other half” were selected. Of course, Quinn must mean Dylan, Abigail’s alter ego in that case. Uh, that would be me!

ABIGAIL: “Oh, you mean Dylan! She’s definitely my counterpart, not my ‘better half.’ What can you tell me about where she, my writer self, is now?”

QUINN: “I parted ways with Dylan some time ago, shortly after Wish—our hot air balloon—made a rough landing on a hillside overlooking an enormous industrial complex stretched along one bank on either side of a wide, muddy river. Before I left, Dylan gathered the passengers and told them it was time to return home. The method? Clicking their heels together and reciting the classic phrase, ‘There’s no place like home.’”

ABIGAIL: “And just like that—they all went home?”

QUINN: “Just like that. All except me and Dylan. She stayed behind to care for Wish, who needed repairs before flying again. My task was different. I was entrusted with a map—a map that led me here, to your cozy new apartment in this charming village. The journey was a good twenty miles, which gave me plenty of time to explore. Along the way, I crossed paths with skunks, groundhogs, weasels, and even a few curious beavers. It was an adventure in itself.”

ABIGAIL: “This is incredible news! I’m on the edge of my seat to hear every detail—how you met, what unfolded, and most importantly, what you discovered from the descendants of my cherished old friends. Don’t keep me waiting a second longer—I’m bursting with excitement!”

QUINN: “Easy now, take a breath… and maybe another sip. This might take a while.”

Abigail smiled, raising her glass, intending to take another sip. Instead, once again, she took not one but two hearty gulps, emptying her glass. A soft laugh escaped her lips as she stood to pour a generous refill. Settling back into her chair, Abigail leaned against the cushions, closing her eyes briefly. The weight of her humdrum day lifted as the anticipation of Quinn’s tales rippled through her.

QUINN: “Finding your apartment wouldn’t have been difficult if the route had been straightforward. But Dylan gave me very specific instructions before dismissing the passengers. I was to seek out the descendants of your old friends, investigate the situation along the riverbank, and prepare a report.”

ABIGAIL: “Report? To or for whom?”

QUINN: “Surely, it’s obvious— both you and Dylan. That’s precisely why I’m here. You are inextricably linked, two sides of the same coin. Whatever I tell you, you’ll share with Dylan. Together, along with the forest animals I interviewed we’ll determine our actions.”

ABIGAIL: “So, now, the real question is—what do we do next? When DJ was in the final stage of Alzheimer’s, I found comfort and a sense of purpose in the antics of my imaginary animal friends. For almost ten years, I created stories about how we teamed up to fight off frackers trying to clear the land behind my home. Back then, like so many other environmental activists, I was passionate about pushing for a transition from fossil fuels to renewable energy. We all knew oil and natural gas, called ‘bridge fuels’ for heating our homes and powering our cars, would eventually be replaced by cleaner options like wind, solar, and geothermal energy. But as the industry faced that shift, they turned their attention to a new frontier to keep fracking alive—and that’s when the age of plastic really took off.”

QUINN: “Exactly. Of course, you already know that plastic’s feedstock, natural gas, comes from fracking and that the massive industrial complex straddling both sides of the bridge over the large muddy river in Beaver County where Wish landed is one of the largest petrochemical plants in the world. It’s called Hell’s Bells and Dylan wants us to figure out a way to stop the daily havoc it’s causing.”

ABIGAIL: “Oh yes, I’ll never forget when that particular cracker plant exploded—it was a nightmare. Poor Willie Weasel nearly lost his life. Sebastian was devastated, thinking his best friend was gone for good. But somehow, against all odds, Willie made his way back to my old home. He was in terrible shape—horribly burned and in so much pain. I did everything I could to nurse him back to health. His wounds eventually healed, but the scars… they stayed, a constant reminder of everything he’d been through.”

QUINN: “There must be more, can you tell me the rest of the story?”

ABIGAIL: “Of course. That winter was especially hard. Willie, Sabrina, and I spent countless nights waiting, holding our breath for Sebastian to return. It was his first real battle—the start of so many to come. I still get chills thinking about it. The First Skunk Troop, a hundred strong, stood their ground against the industry landmen who were intent on destroying the forest behind my home. And Sebastian—he was incredible. Using methods learned from The Art of War taught during Enlightenment School, Sebastian led the charge with such brilliance. His strategies turned the tide, and finally, he earned those two bright stripes, ending the curse of the stripeless skunks forever. It was no small feat, but none of it would’ve been possible without the leadership of the infamous groundhog, General Beauregard Lee. What a time that was!”

QUINN: “Indeed, it must have been! During my travels, I’ve had the unique privilege of interviewing the ancestors of your cherished secret friends—well, all except for Willie. But that’s a story for another time. For now, let me begin with General Beauregard Lee’s offspring, bearing the very same distinguished name. He had quite the tale to share—one so extraordinary, you may find it hard to believe.

Stay tuned to learn more …