ORIGIN

The Fox produced more approving sounds that the baby enjoyed. He clacked his beak gently and attempted to make the same noise. His came out a bit more chattery. Then, the fox added something else. “Peanut birb.” Her foot went back to him. He was “peanut birb” now? The Fox repeated it a few times, sinking the message thoroughly in. The newly titled Peanut Birby opened his little beak abruptly, expectantly. He wanted the same words. But silence. He shuffled a little bit, lifting the ridge of his brow in an “oh well” sort of way before letting out a few more juvenile “peeps.”

His friend did not shy away when he hopped over to inspect, and, allowed the chance, he did nuzzle his face into her fur with gusto. It was very soft! And the smell, which drifted into his nostrils and was among the first things he had smelled in his life, was quietly filed under “comforting” in his brain. She crooned and wrapped her long tail around him, and he enjoyed the moment of a snuggle. Then she would begin to walk a new direction and the bird, remaining ever-attentive, took notice and began to head the same way – never thinking for a second that there was any other thing he should do. He was with this Fox thing now, and that seemed just how it was supposed to be. Why wouldn’t he follow?

Exit Raharjo with Quix.