Heron Lake Plateau I Hear the Wind Call My Name

Sounds good! That'll be one ancient thread outta the way at least, haha.  >.>;;  Thanks, dad, for putting up with your terrible son's antics.  ;)  Mwaha.

Owen unglued his rump from the ground and clambered around to the other side of his father's legs in a flaily tangle of growing limbs. He wrapped his galumphing ivory puppy paw around Quixote's sturdy ankles as the youngster peered with wide, wary eyes out from behind his self-made wolf-leg prison bars. Bugs and things were around everywhere out here?! That had been what his dad had just said, right?! Owen didn't for one minute believe he himself could ever be scarier than those, those, those bugs. As was pretty plain to anyone with the eyes to see him right now. Quixote might think it was just fine and dandy to be blasé about murderous grasshoppers lurking behind every strand of grass, but Owen was smaller and more vulnerable and knew better. He was certain he was never, ever, ever going to be big and brave enough to be able to stand up to one of those nasty insects. Ever!

Ainohscawree, he muttered under his breath to himself, a little crossly, as he anxiously scanned the landscape. The first grasshopper had fled, but the pup had no reason to think there wouldn't be another dozen or thousand of them just lying in wait for innocent puppies to let their guard down. Not just whole packs but whole landscapes made of seething hordes of grasshoppers; he could see the terrifying sight in his mind's eye quite easily, and hear their rasping, buzzing, threatening hum. Owen buried his head hard against Quixote's leg for a moment again to give the mental imagery the space to dissipate. Quixote seemed about as safe a wolf as Owen could possibly place in front of him as a big wolf-shaped shield, but even big black Quixote couldn't possbily eat all of those grasshopper hordes fast enough to keep them all from mobbing innocent little Owens! Owen peeked out to regard his father with some dubiousness as the final suggestion was offered up. It took another moment to percolate through the young boy's head, and then he very suddenyl let go of his father's legs and went scrambling back.

Yah is naptime! he shouted back at Quixote as the youngster tumbled into the darkness as fast as his little legs would carry him. Nap an' no more BUGSTH!