Sun Mote Copse “The things that make me different are the things that make me, me.” —Piglet

meerkat was five months old. five! arcturus could not help but gape at her signed and spoken response. he had to remember he had been a homebody his entire life — not everyone was cut from the same cloth.

didn’t mean he liked it or even approved. before he could protest quetzal came bounding over excitedly, her attention focused mostly on the duo. he passed her a surveying glance, acknowledging bronco’s promise to protect meerk with a purse of his lips.

he didn’t like it.

moreover, there was some internal distress there about the fact they were marching to the very place arcturus considered he was lucky to break from. he, childishly, did not want them to be brainwashed or worse, not come back at all.

m-Moonspear? the stutter arcturus hadn’t articulated since he was a child resurfaced. why? can’t you go somewhere .. somewhere else? but truly, where else could they go?