Heron Lake Plateau sleeping children are still flying

There was so much shuffling going on that she felt like screaming. Not a good scream either, the sort where it erupted out of them in a relatively moment of quiet and disturbed anyone in earshot. A total sensory overload, the apex of frustration and anxiety coupled together. She considered this greatly, this idea to scream and scream until things were just in the world... but it was relatively difficult to do with something in her mouth.

Phoebe was not that inclined to let it go, and therefore had to endure the mixed bag of shaking, flailing, and other disorderly manners going on. At least she felt warmer, the air quick to dry her cleaned body and the downy coat of her mother's underside serving a bed of sorts. Though content and growing ever all right with her predicament, she fought the return of rest as she pressed a tiny paw against Raven.

Then someone's foot met her face and pushed.

Had she open eyes, she may have narrowed them in contempt at the offender and seethed. If she had teeth, she probably would have nipped at them in warning. But she was not the firecracker of the quartet—so she screamed in her best tones for lack of other options. It was muffled because hey, mouthful here, and resigned to distressed mewling and squeaking as she pawed back at whatever—whoever—she could reach.