“Fall has fallen on us, dear, so, soon, those hazardly hunters will be near.”

“Yes, the lot and their shot will all around our lovely lake deviously dot.”

“I was thinking there may be a way to spoil their fun—by defending ourselves with a coilgun.”

“You mean have our ornithologist bud create for us a quack attack that delivers a thud?”

“Exactly, my ingenious mate! We will make them duck for cover while we celebrate!”

“Oh, you magnetic mallard! This hen bill-kisses you ten for sagely shielding our finest fen!” ; )

As Lily passed the lotus’s sea lea, she paused for moment, closed her eyes, and listened.

Chirps.

Splashes.

Croaks.

Buzzes.

Flutters.

Gurgles.

Rustles.

Snaps.

Caws.

Of course, these were just sounds to her ears, foreign frequencies of proximous flora and fauna.

But, through the properties of their paralanguages—pitches, tones, intonations, and tempos, she felt sure she understood what they were saying.

Welcomed by some, unnoticed by others, and feared by a few,

Lily opted to relay deep thanks to her midday milieu

With some refreshed breaths and a mint smile before bidding adieu. ; )

Riverbank’s other denizen, otter citizen, was finally welcomed into the league of trash pandas, knighted under the dysphemism of ‘funky fisher’—an apt title for east seaside’s saltiest swisher. ; )

Kylie cherished her gum tree for its so-tasty greenery;

Some even ascribed rigorism to her noshing degree.

“No leaf shall be left unturned.” mused koala of no hurry—

As she espied a distant branch dressed in duds not yet nary. ; )

Cat’s contemplation regarding the compellative call to which it would henceforth respond concluded that ‘Monsieur Roi De La Montagne’ rang nobly true as the only appellation worthy of an endorsing mew. ; )