Blofti

Cricket dashes across the field at the fastest speed he can manage, nearly tripping over his own legs as he does. The grass is long and green, shoulder-height, and his paws keep catching on tangles of it and nearly tripping him. But he doesn’t slow down: the sky is blue and big, stretching off in all directions. What clouds do exist are wispy and thin: barely worth calling clouds at all. And spring is here: with it, it brings warmth and gentle breezes.

Gentle breezes on which blooms of bloftis ride. Cricket has been waiting for this for months.

When he had first been accepted as Neil’s apprentice, Cricket had been in awe of the land Neil lives on. It’s a cluster of important buildings — Neil’s home, boarding for the animals — and then a stretch of wildlands which covers the rest of the property. Cricket had spent days wandering in his free time, and in that time he had discovered a spot which would be perfect for watching the annual blofti migration. 

He has a good feeling about today as he slows to a trot and approaches a standing stone. He climbs up it, settling at the top, from which his view of the sky is unblocked by anything.

He only has to stay for a few minutes before he begins to see them: delicately gliding through the air on the gentle breezes, pale and candy-colored. The group of them soars overhead, casting Cricket in temporary shadow as they drift along.