Cricket Creek Bog so peace be with every place that you had

sharing the grin of thieves, the two puppies parted ways briefly. weejay was trigger-frantic as she searched among the loam. there were pale oconees, which she loved for their white heads and dark red leaves -- but they didn't remind her of aengus. she clipped a few, brought them to flower rubble, and then darted back off to her search.

after about ten minutes, one could hear a loud "WAOWE!" weejay had found a maple sapling, with its normal bright summer-green leaves turned a dark and ill-omened red. she motioned for aengus to come over -- "look!" and then uncaringly, chewed off a thick branch and brought the infested bough to her pile. "it's cool! but that's not your flower."

aaaaand she was off again.

this time she went further from the murky, wet soil -- there were bracken ferns, pinecones, and all manner of forest flowers.. but weejay was looking for a specific flower that came to mind -- the indian paintbrush. in her minds' eye, the violent flare of orange-red was perfect for aengus, and since the flower was often robust and towering over its peers, she thought it would suit him just fine.

finally, there was a patch of them between tall yellow desert grass; weejay bounded towards one, ripped it from the ground root and all, and started galloping back to aengus. "hmmehey!" she hollered, slowing to a wide-eyed walk as she saw what was in aengus' clutch.

they were the most goddamn exotic flower she had ever seen. they put the buttercup to shame, with their broad crimpled petals -- the way the sunlight gleamed off of their disrupted surface like sunfire: "oh!!!" weejay gasped, dropping the indian paintbrush in surprise. "where'd you get those!?"