Cerulean Cape jello mold

There were few things that could keep Moorhen's attention for very long — aside from puppies, of course — but this was one of those things: large stick had washed up on the beach — three times as long as she was from nose to tail tip, and just thick enough to take her weight and bounce a little when she stood where a crook made it jut up from the ground. She wanted to take it home, but wrangling it was proving an arduous task. Picking it up was not difficult, but balancing it was. Dragging it was doable, but she didn't like walking backward for extended periods of time.

Still, she tried it out in fits and starts, knowing that, if she got it back to the bay, she would be able to chew it for a month or more without having to find a new one. She was dragging it once more when another appeared on the beach, and did not notice him for a long moment before a flash of white gold caught her eye.

She straightened up, bristling already to have been caught in such a silly position for such a silly pursuit.

This is mine, she told him, not quite unfriendly, but firm enough that he would have no doubt she meant business about this particular stick.