It was just past sunrise when the scratching came. Light and deliberate, it echoed through the wood of the farmhouse door. The farmer assumed it was one of his goats. But when it didn’t stop, he opened the door.
And there it was. A panda. Sitting calmly on his porch, staring up at him. Its thick fur was still damp with morning dew. It didn’t growl or move. It just looked at him.
Then, slowly, it turned and began walking toward the edge of the forest. Pausing only to make sure he was following.