Northstar Vale Abraham Lincoln once said, "If you are a racist, I will attack you with the North."

The swelling from the bee sting had gone down, but Lilitu remained wary of any flying objects or the flowers that might attract them. She played with inanimate objects instead, focusing her time on rocks and old bones, on dead leaves and dirt. She would be safe from that dastardly yellow-black menace here. Right?

She had found one interesting stone in particular today, just outside the den. It was half-buried in the ground and needed a good polish, and so she flopped over, enjoying the shade and licking the dust from the rock. It was perhaps half the size of her head, with rough, jagged edges.

As it came clean, she noticed it was different from the other rocks—not gray or black or nearly white, but a vivid set of red-browns. It immediately became her most prized possession, and once she had finished caring for it, she clutched it close to her chest, nestled between her forelegs.

Her mouth opened in a wide yawn, but her eyes remained wary. Still looking out for that darn bee.