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*Tobias* · (This post was last modified: May 17 2021, 12:55 PM by Tobias.)

@Mercy
backdated to about a month ago!

Fellas and folks, it is official: Tobie, Tobes, Tobias — this young boy before you — is a hunter. A tracker with the sharpest eyes, ears, and nose! A stalker totally at one with the shadows! And a big, bad killer, with his first-ever catch still warm in his mouth.

His first two-or-so weeks of life have tiptoed along at a much slower pace than he would've liked, kept from flying too far from the nest. What his fathers call "learning" and "growing" and "developing as a child in a safe and healthy manner," he calls "sitting around in the garden when he could be out there on adventures." Don't get me wrong. He loves his Pop-pop's stories and his plants, and he loves playing with his siblings (or, well — Pelly, at least). He even loves the warmth and comfort of sleepytime at the end of the day. But he wants more, and before he's allowed to get out there, he must first convince his family that he's capable.

Truth be told, he wasn't sure he had this in him, and somehow, he has a feeling that Poppa Pride still feels the same way. See, their last hunting lesson together was a little ... weird. Tobie can't quite remember where they hit a snag, or even exactly what that snag was — but somewhere between the searching part of the exercise and the part that came after, there was absolutely some sort of snag. Hmm. Well, the forgetting is probably on account of the light show Pride gave him afterwards, and also the wonderful banana. (Oh, how Tobias adores his bananas. If he had his way, he'd eat nothing else. He's going to learn how to conjure them up himself one day, just you wait, and then he can have as many as he wants!) But in any case, at the time, Poppa Pride seemed to be under the impression Tobie wasn't ready. He said something about asking Mercy, Tobie thinks, which is part of why he's on his way to see him as we speak.

More than that, though, he is very, very proud of himself, and since his elder father (who specializes in other areas of education) hasn't had a chance to see all the progress he's made, Tobie would like his Pop-pop to be the first to know of this achievement all his own. Sometimes, a boy has to take matters into his own paws, and that's just what he's done. It was challenging, lemme tell you, maybe the hardest thing he's ever done. But you'll hear that story soon enough.

The scent of the garden (of home, always waiting for him) drifts closer in a swirl of aerial color, assorted and sweet. Shoots of grass begin to spring up around his toes, followed by that familiar green carpet, soft and cool. Tobie breathes in deep, beaming around the little body in his teeth. He's approaching his Pop-pop's favorite place to rest. Now, he faces a dilemma. It's tempting to march right up and show off his prize, but that would give it away too soon, wouldn't it ... ? No, no, this ... this should be a surprise. He stops himself, huffing. Self-restraint is not his strong suit.

He drops his head and sets his catch down on the ground. The molemouse cries out, squirms, gets her bearings, gathers up her legs for the getaway, squeals once again — "Shhh! Sssss-tay," he whispers with emphasis, scrambling to pin the tiny creature in place. His forepaw touches down on her back — just slightly too roughly in his momentary panic, and he hurries just as frantically to let up, holding her ever-so-softly where she is. She goes still. Phew. "It's a s-surprise, okay? Just sss-tay st-st-st — sss-till, okay?" Oh, wait! His manners! "Please, friend?" A wobbly smile plays at his lips, eyes wide and shiny. The molemouse breathes rapidly underneath the pressure, like a small paper bag inflated and deflated by a nervous flier.

He plops back onto his haunches, rearranging his forepaws to cover his little friend with them both. Deep, deep breath ... And he sings into the garden —

"Ohhh, Pop-pop! I have s-something to shooow youuu ... !"