Lost Creek Hollow i could walk this fine line between elation and success

sionnach has tasted freedom several times: on one occasion, it tasted like whatever catepillars and other creepy crawlies tasted like. it tasted like sunny afternoon days, and soft wind. and once, it had tasted like quills smacked in the face.

that particular insult had been long forgotten, perhaps eagerly so, and sionnach had lost none of her verve in exploring outside the den. today, the girl watched with some disdain as her brother shakily made his debut. like all things in relation to her siblings (in sionnach's eyes), it was incredibly underwhelming.

she sniffed derisively as her brother tripped, disappointed he would be so squishy and loud, but also more disappointed she had little part in his misery. glancing back at her parents to make sure they couldn't see her (they didn't) sionnach weaseled her way to her brother, a fake sympathetic look plastered across her features. she cooed at him gently, as if to reassure him and placate him for his pain.. for about two seconds this act of gentle, caring sister was believable -- but then sionnach took a turn and deliberately stepped on his tail.

one could practically see the devil horns appear atop her little head.