Heron Lake Plateau the intermittent shuttering of shadow

The nose wriggling spurred a tiny “brrrt!” of a growl from little Kite — an instinctive declaration of, “Hey! That’s mine!” or possibly, “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” — but the huff of Quixote’s breath and the ensuing speech tickled, and she burbled a laugh, her jaws releasing automatically as she spilled to the earth like a jiggling puppy-shaped mound of haupia. She was immediately up and searching again — an easier feat now that she had another sense to add to her arsenal. Blurry as her vision was, she could still easily make out her father’s dark shape against the light of the denmouth. “Bee-roo-roo!” she bayed at him, a piping tune that started high and dipped low. She wormed toward him doggedly — and abruptly became distracted by the sight of her more brightly colored brother. “Hey!” she squeaked, prelude to the saucy yaps and yips that would color her near future, and bulldozed toward him, wibbling and wobbling wildly as she tried to catch his waving paw in her mouth.