Wheeling Gull Isle Four and twenty blackbirds

When the little pearl awoke, she stretched and yawned, little pink tongue curling up toward the dark roof of her mouth and her little nose scrunching up in a way that was most adorable. She was the first to wake up, but she didn’t cause a ruckus. The mild-mannered girl didn’t leave the densite either, and instead contentedly stayed at her mother’s side, laying like a pudgy little sphynx and gazed toward the den’s mouth. She was still but a child, but somehow knew patience. 

Once the family roused, Thresher was the last to really get moving, and tentatively, as always, made her way toward the bright light of the outdoors. Several looks of concern were given to her parents, matched with envious gazes toward her braver siblings. While she wasn’t scared, per say, to venture far from the den, she did bear a certain resistance toward new things, and a penchant for avoiding adventure by busying herself with the mundane. Simply laying down by one parents’ side, copying their position perfectly and enjoying the morning’s warmth was enough for her, as she lived vicariously through the silly antics of her siblings.