Spring season has arrived, and the tundra began to sprout new forms of life as the snow slowly melted away into the ground, turning the wet soil into an even more slippery concoction of doom.
The scrunch of claws scraping against the earth resounded throughout the cold, misty glen as Blais dug furiously into her pile of mud. Her one and only spruce tree seedling had grown out of its pot, and this was the perfect season to take it out, lay it down on some fresh ground and allow it to grow freely into a healthy strong tree. So entirely focused she was on making a perfect hole that the figure of a curious visitor looming above her did not capture even a tiny bit of her attention.
Arrow cleared his throat.
"Good morning, Blais."
She looked up and blurt out, "Bwuh?".