(This poem is related to "Suddendusk & Quick Fang's Recognition" - see listing for more related stories.)
Digging on the riverbank for buried treasure
In the form of pretty rocks or turtle eggs,
Feet and fingers heavy with thick, sloppy mud
And clothing drenched with 'accidental' splashings.
She is so alive, this cub of mine
This windstorm of a child
This wide-eyed wonder, wondererówonderful.
I'm not used to the sun on my face: it's the middle of the day
But I want to spend it with her
One more day of her just as she is
That's all I want.
I'll tell her tomorrow
That our lives are all changing
That she'll no longer be the youngest.
A middle cub, with a new face for her to ignite with her joy.
They'll adore each other, I know they will.
Today, I'll spend with herójust heró
Digging in mud
Swinging from trees
Chasing our tails
Racing the wind
And laughing at everything.
She'll never be this young again.
Please, just one more day.