1. Birthday
Three seasons had passed, and Autumn had arrived again. Smellerbee climbed the one of the trees in the brisk and chilly morning so she could sit and watch the sunrise. Today was a special day to her, and nobody had ever found out about this ritual she had held every year since she'd come to the forest.
The inky sky turned to smoky violet, then to the deep pinks and oranges associated with the rising sun. in the time before she was Smellerbee, her parents would always wake her up to watch this with her. Her two brothers- both older- would be outside, tending to the gardens and the ostrich horses. She sat on her branch, a shiver shaking her. A tear streaked down her cheek and she brushed it away, smiling.
"Happy Birthday, Smellerbee." She whispered to herself. Today she was eleven years old. A twig cracked behind her, but when she turned, nothing was there. She reasoned to herself that it was probably just a possum squirrel.
It wasn't. Longshot was always up early- it was easier to find an uninhibited part of the forest so he could practice without fear of hurting anyone. It surprised him to see Smellerbee scramble out of her tent and into the trees, still wearing pajamas and without her red stripes. He'd followed her, trying his hardest to stay quiet.
When he'd heard her wish herself happy birthday, he felt bad. He and Jet had thought that she probably didn't know her birthday, so when New Years rolled around, they would always give her some small trinkets, just as they did for all the others. Now he knew.
When he was climbing down, he'd nearly cursed when his foot landed on a twig and snapped. Longshot pressed himself against the tree trunk and hoped she didn't see him. A few moments passed, and he skittered down to wake Jet.
That night when Smellerbee went back to her room, an extra slice of lemon tart in her hand, two parcels wrapped in brown paper sat on her pallet. In one was a brass breast plate lined with leather. It made her look pot bellied, but she liked it anyway. In the other was a pair of white gloves made of strong hide. They were wrapped in a piece of green silk that snagged on her calloused hands. She held it close for a moment, then smiled, a plan in her mind.
Happy birthday, Smellerbee.