Shrill Felicity

Aster finished off the song and hopped on the branch. She considered singing another, but a pale wolf below caught her eye, the bright fur standing out against the lush green of spring. Instantly forgetting about singing, the blue jay jumped from her perch to a lower branch.

“Hello! You seem to be looking for something? Are you from one of the wolf packs nearby? You’re, like, really small for a lone wolf—most of ‘em are all scruffy and mean, though obviously pack wolves can be mean, too.” Aster tilted her head left, right, left. “Maybe I could help you look? There’s only so much singing I can do before I get bored of repeating the same songs over and over, so, yeah? My name’s Aster! You got a name, right?”