Skye, the little lady of the Valbasca gang, was walking through the woods that afternoon with her nose low and her ears high, the way dogs do when they sense something interesting in the air but haven’t quite figured out what it is yet. In her case, the nose was always working anyway—blame it, or thank it, on that small piece of Brittany Spaniel she carried inside, always on duty. The path was the usual one, the trees were the same, and yet there was a new sound slipping through the branches like a persistent thought.
Tac tac tac tac.
Skye stopped suddenly. Her nose kept searching, but found nothing—no particular scent, no trail, just that steady sound leaving no clues behind. She didn’t like it much, because usually the world worked the other way around: first you smell, then you understand. She looked up and finally saw it. On a trunk, still as if it were part of the tree itself, there was a bird with a red head and a sharp beak, focused on its work with almost musical precision.
Tac tac tac.
Skye took a step forward, then sat down, because when the nose wasn’t enough, it was time to use the eyes. “Excuse me,” she said without speaking, the way dogs do when they talk with their eyes, “but what are you doing?” The woodpecker stopped for a moment, turned, and looked at her carefully, as if deciding whether to answer or not. “Working,” he said at last. Skye tilted her head slightly. “Like that, without any smell?” The woodpecker didn’t react. “Of course. I’m looking for insects under the bark. And while I do it, I listen.” “You listen…” Skye repeated, as if it were a new word. “To the tree. Every tree has a different sound. This one, for example, is perfect.”
And he resumed.
Tac tac tac tac.
Skye stayed still. For once, her nose gave up. But her ears… no. They had just started working for real. It wasn’t just any sound, it wasn’t like the wind or footsteps on the path: it was ordered, it had a rhythm, and that rhythm seemed to say something, even if she didn’t yet know what. Without thinking too much, she tapped her tail on the ground.
Thump.
The woodpecker stopped. “What was that?”
“My tail,” Skye replied with a certain pride. “It doesn’t find insects, but it keeps time.”
The woodpecker tilted his head slightly, then started tapping again, this time a bit slower.
Tac tac.
Skye answered.
Thump.
Tac tac tac.
Thump thump.
For a moment, the woods changed. It was no longer just a place to smell, but something to listen to, as if an invisible room full of sounds had opened among the trees, searching for each other and replying. The woodpecker stopped and looked at Skye with a new expression. “Not bad,” he said.
“Not bad yourself,” Skye thought, trying not to look too pleased. “If you come back tomorrow, we can try something more difficult.”
Skye stood up, made a small turn on herself—because some habits are not up for discussion—and then went back next to her human mom. Her nose had already gone back to work, but something had changed: she wasn’t only listening to scents anymore, now she was listening to sounds too. “I’ll be there,” she said with her eyes, while behind her the rhythm started again, steady and sure.
Tac tac tac tac.
And for the first time, Skye understood that not everything that matters can be smelled.