Heron Lake Plateau ne les laisse pas la ternir

So busy was she looking at everything new around her that she didn't register the darkness emerging from the foliage ahead. When she did, Phoebe nearly tripped over her own feet in an effort to stop on a dime and failed, skittering and scampering to a half-stop composed of both deference and eagerness. She knew she was caught red-handed, but she was also so glad to have found her mother that it was difficult to decide between emotions. That indecision narrowed somewhat when chiding words came to her; her eyes went downcast but her tail, well, it was still gently waving behind her.

"Don't do it," she said, albeit in a mumble of hushed whispers.

Don't ditch the babysitter. Don't eat the babysitter. Don't eat your siblings, don't eat rocks. Don't do this, don't do that, don't, don't, don't—the compelling novella of children's memories was more like an encyclopedia these days with thick volumes of every letter of the alphabet that she and all her siblings used like stepping stones to foist themselves into mayhem. Which admittedly, Phoebe did not think she was as prone to getting into trouble as, say, Vasa or Owen, but even she had her moments that she couldn't help but test the confines of her world.

This was definitely going to be one of those times, as she was already coming around and warming up.

"What're you doin'?" Or alternatively, where did you go?? was the question suggested in her eyes.