Heron Lake Plateau nous sommes l'emeraude

She felt bold today, the great outside pulling at her much in the way her siblings pulled and gnawed at whatever they could sink tiny fangs into. Phoebe's world had continued to expand, sometimes abruptly from day to day. While the passage of time was not marked by any sense of memory, she had begun to associate times with actions, and recalled the majority of frequent flyers to their humble abode.

An adobe which she was keen on escaping. It was the tittering of birds outside that coaxed her to the denmouth but not quite beyond—she hesitated there, as if crossing over that threshold would suddenly have her plucked back to its recessed darkness and dank, where color was muted and confines decidedly becoming more cramped. Not that she minded the close promixity.

No, from here she could take much of what her microcosm of a world offered: swaying stalks of weeds and grasses far taller than she, the towering trees that lent their shade from a sun warm and lulling, and of course, the birds she could not quite see on high singing. She yipped into that world, short and sharp and full of questions.