Mother's expectations were not realistic, if she thought that Giggle wouldn't notice.

She saw them, as she picked her way through the snow and out of Ursa, as her paws seized up in the pain of icy cold beneath her. She saw the Ghostbird high above, her senses flickering gray. Sardonic amusement flashed through her, and she allowed herself a little bitter cynicism. But she didn't let on. Let the ant-things think she didn't know. Let them spy; she'd watch them in turn. Maybe get a better idea of what they really wanted.

She'd notice half the things watching her, all the way home. The rat and the bat; perhaps not the biter or the moth. They were small things, after all, mere flecks in the greater tapestry of fungus the caves hosted. But she'd know, at least.

She always did.

rain stock: D Sharon Pruitt wiki commons; hyena Benjamin Hollis on flickr