Crawling, belly to the ground, eye on the prize.
A sparkling prize; sight and smell appealing, luring me towards it, begging to be touched.
Check once more; the coast is clear, it’s now or never.
Leaping out of shadows, grappling a prickly target, sending orbs smashing to the ground.
“Fluffy! Not the tree again!”
Featured in the WDC Short Stories Newsletter