The springs creaked and groaned as Springy lept higher and higher, his hooves pushing harder on the mattress each time he came down. Bouncy, his childhood friend, watched from below, her eyes wide with excitement and a hint of worry. With each bounc...
Sunrise hadn't even cracked the horizon when Thornheart nudged me awake. "Rise and grind, champ," he mumbled, barely louder than a snore. 6:00 am. Seriously, Thornheart? Even the birds were still tucked in. We shuffled out of the cave, the air crisp enough to wrinkle my nose. Today was the official start of training, and let me tell you, I was both pumped and terrified. Our destination: a legendary spot called Old Bounce New Life. It wasn't your average junkyard – this one was paradise for anything that bounced. We're talking mountains of mismatched mattresses, forgotten springy couches, and rusty trampolines. It's our bouncy boot camp for the next two months. Two months! It felt like forever and like two seconds at the same time. We had a ton to cover – different jump styles, landings that wouldn't make me look like a ragdoll (those were hard!), the art of the mid-air pillow fight (yes, that was a real thing!), and obstacle courses that would make even an Olympic athlete cry. Thornheart, the grumpy ol' rhino that he was, turned out to be a surprisingly decent coach. He drilled me with exercises, gave me "homework jumps" (because who wants fun names, right?), and even built mini obstacle courses to prepare me for the real deal. There were lessons, of course. Lessons on using my springs to the max, understanding how different surfaces bounced (beds weren't the same as trampolines, as I learned the hard way with a very painful "ouch"), and most importantly, how to take care of my springs since Thornheart wouldn't exactly be my bunkmate during the contest. Here's where I became a pro at oiling, tightening, and keeping my bouncy bits happy.
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Finally, the two long months were over. My springs felt springier than ever, my landings were less "crash and burn" and more "graceful gazelle," and my mid-air pillow-fu? A few unsuspecting birds learned the dangers of napping on clotheslines."Alright, Springy," Thornheart announced, a hint of (dare I say?) pride in his voice. "Cloud Courtyard, here we come. We leave tomorrow."Excitement exploded in my chest like a firecracker. I couldn't wait to show off my skills, meet other bouncy creatures, and maybe even bump into Bouncy! I launched onto my bed in a celebratory bounce, perhaps too celebratory.
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The next thing I knew, there was a loud CRACK, and my trusty bed was now a pile of splinters, springs and feathers on the cave floor. Thornheart sighed, a sound that could have flattened a termite mound. "Springy," he said, way calmer than I expected, considering the wreckage of my bed. "If you win this contest, you owe me two grand for a new bed."I stared at the splinters, then back at Thornheart. Two thousand bucks? That was a big chunk of the prize money! But a new bed... well, the thought of bouncing on something that didn't groan like a rusty swing set was tempting.
On the other hand, my current sleeping situation looked more like a torture device than a bed."Deal," I mumbled. Maybe Thornheart woke me up at dawn and made me jump through hoops (literally, some days), but he also turned me into a bouncing machine. And hey, two grand for a new bed was a small price for a shot at bouncing glory. Besides, with my new skills, who knew what other bouncy business ventures awaited me in the future? Maybe I could open a "Springy's School of Bounce" or launch a line of Springy-approved mattresses. The possibilities were endless, and all it took was a bit of hard work, a grumpy but surprisingly supportive rhino coach, and a win at the Cloud Courtyard competition.
