Post by braxton on Jul 30, 2010 23:39:20 GMT -5
He crept quietly through the shallow grass, his stomach pressed close to the ground, crushing the dew-soaked blades beneath him. His eyes, as black and dense as velvet, locked onto their target, which rested, unsuspecting, a couple feet ahead of him. His nose twitched anxiously, and a soft, barely audible whine echoed from his throat. His prey had not yet realized the danger, but he wasn't going to waste much more time. His muscles tensed, preparing for the assault. And with a high-pitched battle cry, he lunged.
The little butterfly took to the air, escaping with its dignity just as he landed in the spot the butterfly had been a moment before, short of a victory. Those pesky little butterflies always seemed to get away. Maybe it had known he was there all along and had just been teasing him, waiting for the last minute to get out of harm's way. Not that his goal had been to hurt it; he just wanted to play.
A weak breeze carried a low whistle lazily through the air, its pitches drifting like the wind. His ears perked at the familiar sound, and he took off in bounding, excited leaps toward the source, forgetting the butterfly for the moment.
---
Braxton lay on his back, stretching his lanky form across the wooden bench. One bare foot, the one closest to the back of the bench, was pressed against the wood, his leg bent at the waist and at the knee so that it wasn't sprawling off the end of the bench. The other leg hung off the side, parallel to the rest of his body until his knee, which was bent so that his foot rested on the damp grass. One arm rested on his stomach while the other, like his leg, hung off the side of the bench.
A smile tugged at the side of the Druid's mouth as he heard his friend coming closer. He turned his head to see the young pup bounding toward him, and felt the pit bull's excitement as if it were his own. The dog quickly reached the bench, and immediately ambushed Brax's hand in a barrage of mad licking. Brax laughed and patted the dog's head.
"Hello, Tank," he said softly. "Come up here." Tank stopped his continued effort to lick the boy's hand, and focused instead on his new mission. With just a little hesitation, unsure if he could really make it, he jumped onto the bench, landing on Braxton's stomach. Brax let out an "oof" at the sudden weight: at six months, Tank wasn't quite as little as he used to be.
Tank sprawled out across Braxton's torso, resting his head on Brax's chest, just below the base of his throat. The dog's dark eyes met Brax's similarly dark eyes, and the boy smiled at his companion. He rubbed Tank's ears affectionately, chuckling as the dog's lids half-closed in pleasure, his tail wagging slightly.
"Ah, Tank. What a splendid morning." As soon as he had spoken the words, the dog's mood changed, into a gloomy, pouty feeling. He whimpered quietly. "Oh, don't worry. There will always be more butterflies to sneak up on," he said with a laugh.