Swiftcurrent Creek Cars lining the streets, choking the place where kids could make believe

unaware of the disdain with which she was ostensibly regarded, Tiercel went about her business as such—happy to practice vital economics on the velveteen ear as her mother schemed social experiments in the background. 

suddenly, she felt the froth-wet plaything snatched from her mouth. she certainly didn’t like things being taken from her, and expressed this immediately in a quaintly packaged growl. excuse me? excuse me? no? she felt the vibration of the sound she’d just created bubble in her throat and lumberingly stomped after the trailing end of the ear, letting loose an opinionated shriek at the thieving paw. mine! it asserted.

she was too small yet for apocalypse-sized anythings, but localized calamity was about accurate for the shaft of distress this demonstration of “pulling a fast one” had manifested in her.