Parisa, you can’t do that. Parisa, don’t touch that. Parisa, leave that alone.
All she heard all of the time was some variation of the word no and, the older she got, the more tired of it she was becoming. Two seasons had passed since she had been alive for an entire year, which meant she was practically an adult now. Adults could do whatever they pleased, as far as Parisa was to understand it. Maybe that wasn’t the exact lesson she had been taught, but it was what she chose to take away from all of the wise words her mother often shared with her.
A pebble skittered over the ground, pulling Parisa’s grouchy thoughts away as she perked her barely-curved ears and peered at the rock as it rolled and then stopped. She heard the scuffled steps next, peering the direction the pebble had come from to spot one of her sisters. Rethe, who’d just been born the past spring. Parisa brightened considerably, ever the social butterfly. She made a rumbling noise to draw Rethe’s attention, then tossed her head and pulled her knees high, trotting forward to close whatever distance was between them.
When she came to a halt near Rethe she stretched her neck out, ready to playfully pester her sister until Rethe could be antagonized to either chase her, or play too. But, up close, she noticed Rethe didn’t appear particularly chipper. She hesitated just a foot away from Rethe, her expression pinching into a frown and her head tilting inquisitively.
“What’s got you all bummed out?” Parisa asked, as clueless as ever. Of course the absence of Rethe’s mother hadn’t gone unnoticed by the herd and, if Charmeine were here with Parisa, she would have given her a small, smart little nip for asking such dumb question. Unfortunately Charmeine wasn’t, so Parisa just stared at Rethe, confused at why she’d be so down on her luck.
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