Heron Lake Plateau how cheerfully he seems to grin

In less covert conditions, Phoebe did not stray far from the den. So far there had been little reason to today and so she had taken to roughing up the surrounding scenery in a flash of solo play time. The long reach and bend of a stalk was enough to occupy her while her siblings busied themselves with other things—notably driving their mother and father insane—and it was not an opportunity she passed up lightly. Not that there was anything wrong with chumming with her siblings.

With a growl that seemed too big for her still small frame, she pulled and wheeled backward on the stalk, trying to pull it free from the soil it had planted roots in deep. To her it was quite a task, but for the stalk it was yet another day where it remained, tattered and thoroughly chewed, unwilling to relent. It hardly resembled what it was supposed to be, which Phoebe had forgotten the name of some time ago, but she tugged and tugged at it, every vicious note a stern demand for it to come free.