So far that morning, Windy had climbed a towering mountain (a lump of a hill), burrowed through a deep, dark tunnel (a rotting log), forged her way through a raging river (a tiny brook) and fought off fearsome, wild beasts in order to claim her food (knocked a squirrel out of the way so she could get to the berries of a bush first), all before the sun had actually risen in its entirety.
Now she sat, triumphant and rather pleased with herself, on the edge of the river (stream), a cluster of berries at her hooves and her mouth and snout stained red with juice. They were a delicious prize, she thought, and ate another one just because she could. Soft golden rays of the morning sun spread across her legs and Windy licked her lips, one of her hind legs bouncing with excitement.
She was going to be a mother.
"Hey!" she called cheerily down the river (stream). "Do you want one of these?"
Now she sat, triumphant and rather pleased with herself, on the edge of the river (stream), a cluster of berries at her hooves and her mouth and snout stained red with juice. They were a delicious prize, she thought, and ate another one just because she could. Soft golden rays of the morning sun spread across her legs and Windy licked her lips, one of her hind legs bouncing with excitement.
She was going to be a mother.
"Hey!" she called cheerily down the river (stream). "Do you want one of these?"