I balanced along the tree log, digging in my feet to ensure my grip on the slippy thing. Carefully, but with little struggle, I was across and snuck up the walls like a snake. If Dad knew I had been out, he would go ballistic. Never wanted me to ever have fun. Says that 'its better safe than sound' . I peeled my slim body into the little gap and I was, at last inside. I was on the second floor of the cave with all the nests. It was very quiet up here but hubbub from down below told me it was market time. I fizzed with excitement, remembering the annual festival. I licked my lips and counted my feathers. I had six. Just enough to buy a box of mice. I hummed at the thought, stuffed my feathers into the satchel and slid down. It was busy. The large cave was alight with music and fun. Kids danced around merrily as the band played on their flutes, carved out of wood. Market cries yelled out, echoing beautifully around the cavern. I sought out the food stall and found my mother Smoke was selling them this year. She smiled at me. "Come for squirrels?" I put my feathers inside the pit. "A box of mice please." Smoke grabbed one of my feathers and handed it to me. " Five feathers for you, Owl." I did my little dance of happiness and grabbed my box, stuffing in my feather. I'll use it for lucky dip later. I dove through all the feet and headed to the art area. I flung off my deer hide jacket and put it on the wood table. I grabbed some slate, ink and brush. I was snatched away. Mountains and fields, full with poppies glistening in the sun. Then a beautiful sloshing river watching it slowly freeze and sipping warm juices in the cave, watching the pellets of snow plop onto my page. I pinned my piece up and signed off with my name. Owl. I neatly crossed a line through it, my mark. Suddenly, I heard a rough voice behind me. Father. "Where have you been?" My blood ran cold.227Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgB4L495U6I
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