The Caucus-race had ended in a puff of feathers and a spatter of mud. The Dodo stood at the center of the trampled circle, one wing raised in a solemn gesture that was thoroughly undermined by the fact that he was still panting. "Everybody has won, and all must have prizes!" he declared, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority—or absolute nonsense. It was impossible to tell which. The Mouse, still dripping from the Pool of Tears, muttered something about dry history and how a good lecture would have been far more sensible. No one listened. Alice pushed forward, her blue dress damp at the hem. "But who actually won?" she demanded. "Someone must have crossed the line first." The Dodo turned his heavy beak toward her, blinking slowly. "The Caucus-race," he said, "is not about winning. It is about running. And we all ran. Therefore, we all won." "That's not how races work," Alice said. "That is how this race works." The Dodo produced a thimble from somewhere—perhaps from his feathers—and held it out to her. "Your prize." Alice stared at the thimble. It was rusty. "I don't want a thimble. I want to know who won." "You won," said the Dodo, and the Lory squawked in agreement, and the Eaglet chirped, and even the Mouse paused mid-mutter to nod reluctantly. Alice felt the thimble pressed into her palm. It was cold and slightly damp. She looked at the circle of creatures—all staring at her with expectant eyes—and realized that in Wonderland, the answer to any question was only as true as the number of creatures who agreed to it. She pocketed the thimble. The Dodo beamed. The Mouse began a new story about King William, and someone groaned. Somewhere beyond the trees, a pocket watch ticked furiously.