Sleepy Fox Hollow mafic

his ears twitch first—oversized, floppy things that flick at the sound of his mother’s voice. then his nose wiggles, catching the newness of air and pine and mare. a sneeze, then a huff.

pippin stretches his long legs out with a dramatic flop, little hooves slipping on the pine needles. a tiny grunt escapes him. he tries again—wobbly, uncertain, one leg buckling beneath the other. but he’s determined.

up he goes. halfway.

then—plop.

back down.

but his tail gives a hopeful flick. he’ll get it next time. maybe.