Literature
First Flight
The trees called to me, the grass under my leg pushed me, being pulled from one end to the other, the endless clover waves under my paws. "Go to it", they tell me. I know not where I am, or how I got here, but I know I must continue. The clovers push me under a luscious tree; the vibrant colors of green are brilliant. But the tree is not what catches my eye; the glistening object underneath does. It is that of a bell, a strange, silver bell, acts as a medallion for a piece of silver string. I grab the necklace, and put it on. The wind howls. The great father yells at me to run, run, run far away, run to whom you love. I run. The wind picks up