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They wandered outside of the Howff, bright eyes observing the quieter world beyond their home's doors. Lichen found, sometimes, that the indoors was busy — loud, overwhelming. There was too much going on, too much to focus on, and that left little left for them to understand. Chaos often brewed, loud and clinking sounds of raucous parties. There were travelers and guests, a sea of unfamiliar faces.

But out here was quiet.

In their jaw, they held a small piece of bedding ... a strange, wet mixture of hay and fur that they'd taken from the edge of their nesting bed. It held the familiar scents of her family — of Kobold and Will-o'-Wisp — and it brought them comfort in the strangeness of the world outdoors.

It smelled a little funny. But it was home.

The sun was bright overhead, intense and heavy. Instinct drove Lichen into the forested shade, their bright eyes gazing upward at the glowing canopy above. The birds would sing, quiet and polite. And from somewhere in the undergrowth, a rabbit stirred, rustling in the hedges. Lichen would blink, noting the brown cottontail and the way it stood, so clearly visible and yet, trying to be invisible.

Lichen would freeze, mirroring the posture and putting their ears straight up. Eyes wide.

And Lichen and the rabbit would stare at each other.

Like some strange game of Chicken.

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