Bearclaw Valley Lack of tipping is the leading cause of sinkholes in the US

@Ico

Huge, puffy clouds sailed casually across the pale blue sky, drawing the attention of one small Bearberry, who watched their progression with open-mouthed wonder. He'd left the den on several occasions now, but this was the first time he'd ever noticed that there was something going on above the canopy. This discovery was surely owed to the whistling wind swirling over the high walls of the valley, although down in Tumbleview, the air was still and calm.

A rope of drool fell suddenly from Aventus' slackened jaws and hit his paw, breaking his concentration long enough for him to sloppily lick his chops. As if only just remembering that he was outside and exposed, he turned his head rapidly from left to right, ears flared and eyes alert, surveying the area outside Astara's den with a bird-like vigilance.

Sometimes Ico roamed this way in a wide parameter, eyes perked and brown eyes watchful, hoping that he might catch his first glimpse of the little ones. This was mainly out of warm curiosity, but also because... well, deep down, he just wanted to ensure they were okay.

Today he'd got lucky. For Ico could see one now! Emerging from the den and staring skywards. The young storyteller hesitated a fair bit, and then at last approached, eyes glancing towards the den's mouth to make sure Astara had no fierce issue with his presence.

Ico had every intention of uttering something wise or sophisticated or otherwise profoundly above the head of such a youngling, but all he could say when he saw the sooty little fellow up close was — Ahw... you're so cute!

That searchlight gaze ground to a halt when it found a wayward cloud adrift amidst the surrounding trees. Only this was no cloud; Ico was unmistakably a wolf, and Aventus' gaze clapped onto him warily. The boy's demeanour changed in an instant, shoulders climbing toward his ears at the same time his hindquarters began sinking toward the dirt.

Ico was impossibly slender, moreso than either mother or the one-eyed dragon. His gently tousled fur was a bright shade Aventus had yet to see on another wolf. His eyes flitted to the sky above as he quickly compared Ico to the passing clouds, and they were inscrutable when they returned to the visitor. How had he stolen their colour?

Awh... you're so cute! said Ico, spooking Aventus, who arched his back in a kittenish fright display, but slung his belly low toward the ground, submissive. He said nothing and made no sound. The Bearberry merely stared wide-eyed at Ico, waiting with bated breath for Something Bad to happen.

Even as Ico spoke, he realised suddenly that this puppy's mother was not one for speaking. Ico had never heard her utter a single word; and if this kid's reaction was anything to go by, nor had he.

Swiftly, ears flat with concern, the ivory youth lowered himself to the ground. Oh no, it's okay bunny rabbit! I won't do you any harm.

He glanced around frantically, and then his eyes landed on something. See, look. Ico retrieved a small stick and placed it gently in front of the child, as if this offering was proof that cloudborn Ico was a bona fide goodie.

The wolf-shaped cloud spoke to him. Aventus wasn't used to being spoken to. Astara was either incapable of using the pack's common tongue, or unwilling to. Whichever it was, she didn't speak to her bairns, and as a result, they didn't speak to her. The one-eyed dragon sometimes spoke, and the only reason Aventus knew his ability to do so wasn't the mark of God was because Jaylen the bear had also spoken. Now Ico spoke.

If they all could do it, then he could, too. He remained where he was, huddled close to the ground and as small as possible to ensure he wasn't perceived as a threat, but as Ico cast around and went to retrieve a stick, little Aventus began pantomiming the cloud-wolf's speech.

He emitted no sound, and his jaws moved in the wooden fashion of a puppet, but when Ico returned with the stick, he would find Aventus opening and closing his mouth in a poor approximation of the words he'd produced moments before. There would be a brief span of time between Ico placing the stick in front of him, and Aventus noticing it, that he simply locked eyes with the Earthclaw and moved his mouth in that rigid, unnatural fashion. His gaze was expectant, as though he believed he was making words, too, and Ico would understand them.

And then he noticed the stick, and pounced toward it with a kittenish wiggle of his bum, forgetting about his earlier trepidation.

Ico tilted his head, shyly amused as the impressionable young boy silently copied his movements. But then the stick at last proved a successful distraction.

Ico smiled contentedly, and crossed one forepaw over the other as he watched the puppy play. Once upon a time, the youth began on autopilot. There was a little stick. Its name... was Stickums. And Stickums hailed from the Mother Tree, a stately matriarch from over the valley's edge.

Ico began to weave a tale. At first, Aventus wasn't really listening; the crackle of thin bark under his little molars had his full attention. He worked shards of twig out of his mouth with a lapping tongue, but continued to crunch on the stick until Ico said the word Stickums, which made his ears flare.

There was something about that word he liked. His gaze danced with interest between Ico's rich eyes and his moving lips. By the time the cloud given wolfish shape started talking about the Mother Tree, he had Aventus' rapt attention. Maybe he couldn't understand what was being said, but he liked the sounds. It was pleasant to be spoken to by someone other than the harsh one-eyed dragon.

With a tilt of his ear and a nervous glance in the direction of the den, Ico wondered if it was sensible to let those little gums chew on the stick...

But then the baby boy diverted his attention from the stick itself and towards the story thereof. Ico didn't know much of children, though he knew that surely the puppy couldn't understand the words — but he also knew that that wouldn't prevent him from spinning a ripping yarn.

When Stickums was born on the Mother Tree, he had a thousand brothers and sisters — not just one like you. A thousand. And that meant Stickums couldn't stand out, no matter how much it wanted to. So one day, it wriggled and it wriggled, Ico wriggled his skinny haunches expressively, until — snap! It fell from the Mother Tree, free at last to seek its own fortune. But how? Ico asked hopelessly. It was just a little twig, after all...

Ico was quite possibly the most compelling storyteller in all the land. Maybe Aventus was a little biased. Maybe it was a premature assessment, considering he barely understood what was being presented to him. Regardless of all that, Ico's dulcet voice was the precise stroke of a brush on a canvas. Aventus might not understand the abstract image he produced, but that made it no less beautiful.

A thousand brothers and sisters! If only he could comprehend the words, Aventus would loudly protest such a living. Avicus was already one sibling too many, in his opinion. He creased his lips around the stick into an amused smile when Ico began to wiggle, and though he didn't utter a sound, he unconsciously followed along with a clumsy wobble of his own hindquarters. Rrrr, he said in response, chewing the stick with a renewed vigour, ears tipped attentively toward the talespinner.

Ico gave a soft chuckle at the little one's response, and wondered if the puppy was about to glomp him, such were his playful motions. But his attentions were on Stickums, for now — and the tale thereof.

So bidding one final farewell to the Mother Tree, Stickums headed for the horizon — moving like a little worm. It was a bizarre image. But later that hazy afternoon, he saw another stick... a fellow traveller alike in every way except mobility. For the other stick had managed to grow a set of narrow legs and probing antennae. And Stickums was jealous. Wouldn't you be?

Shards of wood poked into his gums and spilled between his teeth as, with a satisfying crack, he finally managed to break the stick. An adult like Ico might've done it with a single bite. For Aventus, it had taken about a dozen. All the while, the cloudy storyteller continued to talk of Stickums and the Mother Tree.

What a shame that he couldn't really understand the story. A stick with arms and legs sounded positively horrifying.

By now, he was starting to get bored. Ico's presence was no longer a source of anxiety; he'd accepted the cloud-borne wolf into his graces. In fact, he cast a crafty eye over the creative narrator before abandoning his stick without warning and aiming a set of playful yet sharp puppy teeth for Ico's tapered chin.

We can wrap this soon, if you'd like, seeing as a lot has changed for Ico!

The storyteller might've seen the unceremonious snapping-in-two of his protagonist as a sign of things to come, but for all Ico's musings he could be perfectly earthbound; he accepted that the pup was just being a pup. And he also appreciated that the little fellow was getting bored of listening.

Ico had in his mind a conflict between Stickums and the newly-introduced stick insect character, but he quickly changed the story. That's right, the wandering stick was me all along! And when me and Stickums teamed up to bring down Ursus, a brave young Bearberry took us both on, ahhh! he gave a cry of defeat and fell dramatically to his side as the pup came at him. And he was triumphant!

Sometimes the best kind of story was one that devolved into good old-fashioned playtime.

Yuss, happy to end here if you are~ ^___^