Tych’s childhood was shaping up to be a loosely supervised one. If you were quiet, he found, and sort of dirt-and-rock colored, you could pretty much poke around doing whatever you wanted.
He still liked to stay in the caverns, because his sisters were often there, and he liked to be in the same place as his sisters. But he was curious about the outside, too. He loved to roll around in pine needles, jump up and claw at their ladderlike branches and get sap stuck on his face. He liked to follow after bugs and crunch them into little bits with his teeth.
He was happy in his trees, but was steadily branching out to explore the rest of the territory as well. Today, the lake.
It was still and clear and quiet, besides the sharp, repeated calls of birds in endless competition with each other. Cool air breathed around him and made the water shine. Whiskers twitching, he trotted down onto the pebbly beach and marveled at the way the sound changed as he went from dry rock to wet. He paused to consider this. Considered some more. And then scrabbled off to race down the shoreline to the roar of froggy wet pebbles, disturbed from rest.
Dec 23, 2017 04:23 AM
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