Greatwater Lake The Ladybugs Are Flying

The soft, rippling coo of the lake has almost lulled her to sleep when it begins to break apart with the sound of canine lapping. She is irritated that her nap has been interrupted. Her sleep hasn't been pleasant, marred by nightmares frought with various images of horror. Perhaps it is for the better that she stays awake a little longer. Spencer doesn't get up, but rather scoots on her belly to peer between the rigid grasses growing along the shore. There stands a male, reddish fur of an oddly short texture. Equally as odd is his smaller, more slender stature, and she wonders if she is bigger than him. The snowy girl watches him drink for a moment, but then, a small red beetle lands right between his eyes. This brings a smile to her face, the sensation of her lips turning up instead of down seems foreign and strange. She realizes that she has not smiled in weeks.

Ordinarily Spencer would not have approached him. But as he  is small, and possibly aging, she feels less threatened by his presence. And with a  couple of days of small game in her belly, she thinks she can at least escape him if he decides to display any aggression. Crawling forward so that her small, pretty face juts between the reeds, Spencer clears her throat. Um, she says, her voice raspy. She coughs again, and the words flow much more smoothly. There is a beetle on your face. Her voice is gentle - informative - rather than mocking.