ghosts and wisteria

He couldn't go very far from the wisteria tree that the den was located in. Partly because of physical limitations but also because of the rules. The woods seemed endless, and he was certain that with how thick the trees grew together that he would never find his way back. However, Angel would never in a million years admit to that fact. He couldn’t get lost, he always knew exactly where he was, or at least that was the face that he would portray to anyone who was looking.

The young Angel was a picture of confidence as he poked his little half and half nose out of the den, curiosity getting the better of him while his mother was currently not looking. There was a warmth in the air with the Austerian Spring, and Angel could see, even in the moonlight, that their home tree was beginning to bloom. The tree species was, of course, the very first plant the young boy learned to identify.

Mismatched paws cautiously crept forward. The boy tried to exude confidence, he wasn’t afraid of anything. Least of all the rumored ghosts that lived here. He lifted his little gilded head and took a few steps out under the brilliant moon lit blooms.


"Speech"