Primrose was feeling sad. Her paint was faded and her garland of flowers looked like pallid overcooked Brussels sprouts. It seemed as if nobody could help her. Not even the garden fairy, and all her nome friends feared she was going into a decline.
At midnight, under a fat, full moon, Brenda dragged Primrose into the centre of a ring of tiny mushrooms.
“What’s supposed to happen now?”
“I don’t know. Just you set still and wait.”
In the morning, Primrose looked just the same. But her smile was back.
“That’s moon magic. You never knows what it might do.”
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