Beare raised a paw behind her ear and scratched, snuffling at the air. Returning her paw to the ground, she tiptoed forward, standing on her hind legs to peer inside a hollow of a tree. She grunted and her stomach growled at the smell of honey. Beare shook herself, irritated by the bees that had begun their circulation around her self. Her fur, the colour of honey, was thick and meant stings didn't hurt much. Driven by her stomach, Beare reached into the hollow with a forepaw and scooped out some of the sticky stuff, shoving it into her mouth and dropping back to the ground on her three other legs. She grunted as the bees flapped around her, and thundered and crashed away into the forest, ignoring the envious grunt of Bear, sniffing sadly at the scent of honey she carried as she flew past him, fleeing the bees. Sometimes Bear still behaved like a cub. Sure, she was his sister, but he could get it himself. Lazy.
> 'Bear', 2016
YOU ARE READING
Spontanéité
Short StoryA collection of some bits and pieces of my written works. These bits and pieces weren't all spontaneous pieces of writing, though. They're descriptions of people, places and memories, and maybe they're short stories or other things. I don't know, it...
