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(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, wonderer—wonderful. 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. Tomorrow. Today, I'll spend with her—just her— 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.
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