Swiftcurrent Creek i'm in your back pocket, take me out when you get curious

she had serenely sprawled across the breadth of warm earth, belly-up with all four gams spread eagle in a fairly unladylike way as she bathed under the sun. it was tough being a middle class kid, but Tier handled it with dignity and grace despite a great amount of adversity.

Mahler was quiet as a lamb, so his progress through the shadows slipped easily under the radar of untrained ears. there was only slight improvement in smelling things, but all the forest-scent coalesced and he didn’t carry an offensive enough odor to bid her diligence, either. at any rate, the junebug did not stir. the crescending drone of cicadas in the trees kept her intrigue—the sound was soothing, almost reminiscent of the sounds of her mother’s womb; it was easy to drowse. 

well, easy until nature got handsy. a fat little honey bee bumbling past her head just as her lashes languorously fluttered open was all it took to disturb the peace. when the yellow drone intersected with her unfocused gaze Tiercel jerked upward to right herself, alarmed, though the struggle was real for the second it took to get her rear-end to catch up with the escape velocity of her front-end. whatever, butt, meet you there. situating her getaway sticks beneath her, she scrambled in reverse to "flee" from the UFO sighting/harmless arthropod. 

in doing so she demonstrated a phenomenon now called panic fueled progress—this was the most ground she’d ever covered using the proper mechanism intended for movement and clearly all it took to knock the lazy out of her was a healthy fear of bees.

taking a few gulping strides, she tumbled back into the switchgrass with a squeal. her behind did meet her there, coming in clutch by sailing over the k-point of her landing and sending her tail over teakettle. the pup inscribed a long face-shaped track in the dirt that led to the base of a tree where momentum had deposited her.

mmm yes, a real child prodigy we have on our hands. 

once again, there was no parent around to put on a show for, so at first she was ominously quiet... and then the adrenaline of her misadventure wore off and she did the math in her head and figured this was probably worth crying about regardless of the turnout, because the landing hurt and the abrupt conceptualization of mortality was actually kind of a lot to take in.

thoroughly shaken up, the child let out that telltale, keening sound (evocative of a tornado siren, really) that notified everyone within earshot that their ears were about to be shot.