Three sleeping bags strewn haphazardly on the hardwood floor in an otherwise barren room.
The day was filled with more action than any of them knew what to do with. For three kids who barely left their house, it was thrilling. The change of pace, the constant adrenaline. The fear, excitement, and anxiety, depending on which duckling you asked. It had been a day of nonstop motion.
None of them can sleep. In stark contrast to the action packed day, their night is unnaturally still.
The house is old, and big. It makes noises they are unfamiliar with. The room is too big, and too empty. The house is too big and too empty. The night, up on top of the hill, is nearly silent.
Uncle Donald is not a mere hallway away. There is no garbled snoring down the hall. There is no bathroom light left on.
The low creaking of the ancient house cooling as night falls. The sounds of traffic are a far off distant ghost. Huey strains to hear the static repetition of waves, but there is nothing. No tide, no crash against the boat. There is no boat. There are no seabirds calling.
The floor is solid and still beneath him. His stomach turns. The house groans.
It's an alien environment. It feels almost hostile.
The floor doesn't move, but Huey does. He's sitting up in his sleeping bag, rocking back and forth.
Dewey rolls over in his sleeping bag and stares at Huey in the darkness. "What's wrong?"
Huey wraps his wings around his knees. "It's too…." he trails off.
"Quiet?" Dewey suggests.
"Too still." Louie adds, quietly. The elder two both turn and look at him, surprised. He hadn't moved a muscle, and he was breathing evenly in his sleeping bag, back to them and facing the door. They would have sworn he was still asleep if not for his voice.
"Yeah…" Huey agrees.
"I think I'm shoresick." Louie mutters.
"That's a thing?"
Huey hums noncommittal. "It's… cool here and all. I mean, it's exciting! More exciting than anything else we've ever done! But it's not…" He trails off, biting his beak. Self-conscious. He doesn't want to say it. Everyone else was so happy. So excited.
"It's not home." Louie mumbles, clutching his sleeping bag tightly. "Everything is different."
Dewey is frowning. "Yeah, it's different. But look at it! This room is bigger than our whole houseboat! And it's all ours!"
Louie knows he's only trying to help. Still... "Huey hates different."
"I don't hate -"
"Huey hates change." Louie corrects himself before Huey can get too defensive. "And this is… a lot of change."
The triplets are silent for a minute.
Louie feels a bit bad for using Huey as a scapegoat. Even if it's true. Big changes make him… anxious . And anxious Huey can be a lot.
"And… I guess I don't love it either." Louie mumbles quietly.
Huey is still rocking back and forth. His body still hasn't figured out he's on dry land.
Louie wonders if he would feel less sick if he let himself rock too.
Dewey looks between his brothers. "... You wanna go sleep on the boat?"
Three ducklings creep out the front door, down to the pool, and clamber up onto the houseboat one after the other. The pool is no marina, but the wind rocks the boat just gently enough for the three to fall swiftly into sleep, exhausted from their day of danger and excitement, bundled together in a tangled pile of blankets and feathers.