The hammer rang once. A spark jumped off the anvil and did not go out. It waited. They followed.

It bounced across the Green and into the print shop. It stopped on the long table, next to a square of paper.

"Fold me, I won't mind," said Kami. Kami was the square of paper.

Lan folded fast. Inkling folded slowly. Together they made a cup, the easy one, corner to corner and flap down.

The last crease went flat, and the paper opened like a door.

They stepped out into a quiet yard. There was a wooden temple, a pine tree and a well. It was a long time ago.

The well's wooden lid had been mended with one new board. Beside the mend, someone had scratched a tiny hammer.

A monk sat on the steps with a pile of paper. He was folding cranes. Some of his cranes were joined together, wing to wing, like a flock that had agreed to fly as one.

A girl stood beside him with a long sheet of paper. It was twice as long as it was wide.

"I want two cranes that hold wings," said Sayo. "For my grandmother. She says joined cranes mean two people who stay together."

The monk smiled and went on folding. He did not tell them how.

"Easy," said Lan. "Two cranes need two squares. I'll cut it in two!" She grabbed the scissors from the step.

"Not all the way through, please!" said Kami, in a small, crackly voice. "Leave me a bridge. If you cut me in two, the cranes can never hold wings."

Lan stopped with the scissors open. Her ears went hot. She had been sure before she checked.

On the wall hung one of the monk's drawings. It showed a long rectangle with lines across it.

"Read the drawing before your hands move," said Mark. He traced a line with one finger. "Dashes mean fold. A solid line means cut. Now look where the line stops."

The solid line went across the middle of the long sheet. But it stopped just before the far edge.

"So we cut most of the way," said Inkling slowly, "and leave a tiny bit."

Two times one is two. One long sheet made two squares, still holding hands at one corner.

"Corners first, always," said Cornelia. "Make the corners meet exactly."

They folded each square corner to corner. Then corner to corner again. Each square became a little triangle, four layers thick. Each layer was a quarter of the square.

"It's a crane!" said Inkling.

"It is a triangle," said Lan. "Cranes have necks."

Inkling laughed. She had named it too soon. That was her habit.

Next came the squash. You lift a flap, open it, and press it flat into a square.

The first square worked. The second one twisted. It would not lie flat.

"I've ruined it," said Lan.

"Crooked is just a first go," said Crinkle. "Smooth it out and try again. The crease remembers."

They opened the twisted flap, gently, so the bridge corner did not tear. The old crease showed them the way. The second try lined up.

"Now press it flat," said Presso. "Run your thumbnail along the fold. A fold you press is a fold that stays."

Squash, press. Petal fold, press. Turn over. Petal fold, press.

Both squares were the same long diamond now, joined at one corner.

Inkling looked from one to the other. "They're the same," she said. "Every crane starts here. It's not a crane yet. It's the base."

The monk looked up and nodded, just once.

"Read the drawing before your hands move," said Mark again. Then he stepped back. "You read this part." Inkling looked hard at the last marks. "The thin points get pushed up inside," she said slowly. "And this little push down makes each head."

Neck up. Tail up. Head down. Then the other crane. Then the wings, gently out.

Two cranes stood on the step, holding wings.

Sayo held them up to the light. "Grandmother will love them," she said. She ran off across the yard.

Lan found a plain square in her pocket. They unfolded it flat, and the door closed behind them.

The spark dimmed to a warm dot and settled back on the anvil. The Green was just the Green again.

Back on the Green

In the print shop, Lan wanted to cut out a paper star fast. She put the scissors down. She looked for the line first, and where it stopped.

Inkling held up a small folded square. "This is the base," she said. "It isn't anything yet. That's the best part."

Tell the story back to someone. Why did the cut have to stop?