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Posted: Sat Jun 11, 2016 8:48 pm
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Agave paced back and forth, hoping a different viewing angle on his dilemma would provide a solution.
"Now," he murmured to himself, "Is that a wasp nest, or a bee hive?" It was too high up in the tree for the acha to clearly see if the hexagons were wax or paper, and if the black-and-yellow insects buzzing here and there were soft and sweet and fuzzy, or sleek and barbed stingers.
If he could just--somehow--climb a bit higher, or find something to (carefully!) knock it down with, Agave was set! The white-socked buck picked his way through the brush, hoping to find a good limb that was long enough--not just to knock the hive down, but to keep well enough away when the inevitable angry swarm resulted.
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Posted: Sat Jun 11, 2016 9:04 pm
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It was a day like any other. Even on days she didn't plan on travelling, Streams of Silver made long circuits back to her starting point– it just felt wrong, and made her antsy, when she wasn't on the move. She'd start with something short, then work her way around to something longer, and longer yet... until she was tired or hungry or it started to rain– and then she'd work her way back to whatever it was would satisfy her needs.
This morning, she was traveling towards a small meadow, filled with sweet, soft shoots and grasses, and blossoms not quite ready to bloom. Streams of Silver quite enjoyed eating flowers, but the trick was to find them before they started growing excessive pollen– and the best time for that was before they were finished their growth.
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Posted: Mon Nov 28, 2016 5:23 pm
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Posted: Thu Apr 06, 2017 5:18 pm
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