Duck Lake if you be my soft and sweet

“I’m really fixin’ to go with you and see the world, sugarplum,” his mother had said as he offered her a nudge to the side of her face, and the sentiment lit up the boy’s face like the aurora borealis that danced above them from time to time. “Take care o’ yourself, son,” had said his stern father, to whom Honeybee gave a strong smile and a nod. His brothers were not here to see him off, and had instead gone out to hunt for the family, but he didn’t mind. They had always teased him and called him soft anyway.

“Bye-bye now, sugar!” was the last thing Honeybee had heard as he turned his back on his family and set out on his grand adventure. That had been nine days ago, when he had passed over the borders of the Canadian forests and found himself in the American ones. The distinction between the two forests meant nothing to him, though. It was all forest and open plains as far as he was concerned.

He had eventually found his way here, alongside a most picturesque lake littered with duck feathers, the shattered remains of long-hatched eggs, and ducks themselves. Aspens lined the far side of it, but he was not interested in hiding amongst more trees. He was in the open now, and the sun on his brown-smattered back was a comfort he rarely felt in his own dense home. Honeybee drew in a deep breath and let it out in a whoop, sending a few startled ducks scattering from the reeds at the edge of the water.

He was finally on his way to an adventure that would make his ma and pop proud!