"*** A Bark In Prospect Park: Where Courage Finds Its Paws ***"🐾
**Chapter One: The Symphony of Arrival** The car hummed a happy tune as Lenny’s warm voice filled the cabin, spinning a yarn about the time he tried to cook pancakes for a family of squirrels, while Mariya’s laughter chimed like wind chimes, her fingers scratching just the right spot behind my velvety white ears. My heart thumped like a drumline against my ribs, each beat whispering that today was going to be pawsitively extraordinary. Roman, my older brother and partner-in-crime, clutched my paw gently, his eyes sparkling with that particular mischief that meant adventure was brewing. “Prospect Park is waiting for us, Pete,” he whispered, his breath smelling of peanut butter and promise. “And I heard there’s a festival called ‘A Bark In’ where dogs rule the kingdom!” I wagged my tail so hard I thought it might spin me into a tornado, my short white fur bristling with electricity, the playful streaks of silver and blue makeup that Mariya had painted near my eyes that morning catching the sunlight like war paint of joy. When the car doors swung open, the world exploded into a kaleidoscope of sensation. The air tasted of grilled hot dogs and blooming lilacs, while a thousand barks created a symphony that made my soul want to sing. Everywhere I looked, tails wagged like metronomes keeping time to happiness, and colorful tents flapped in the breeze like the wings of giant, festive birds. Lenny secured my leash, his hand steady and reassuring, a lighthouse in the sea of excitement. “Stay close, little storyteller,” he chuckled, his voice a rumble of thunder wrapped in honey. “This park is big enough to hide a thousand adventures, and we want to share them with you, not search for you!” Mariya knelt down, her nurturing eyes scanning my face with that magical ability she had to see right into my heart. “Remember, my brave puppy,” she said, adjusting the tiny bandana around my neck, “the world is just a story waiting for you to bark it into existence.” We hadn’t walked ten yards toward the central green when I saw them—a towering gray cat with a smile as wide as the Brooklyn Bridge, and perched upon his shoulder, a tiny brown mouse wearing a vest the color of autumn leaves. “Well, hello there!” boomed the cat, extending a paw the size of my head. “I’m Tom, and this here’s Jerry. We’re performing the opening act for the Bark Festival—juggling and harmonica, though Jerry does most of the harmonica work while I do the heavy lifting.” Jerry tipped an invisible hat, his whiskers twitching with brave curiosity. “Nice face paint, pup! You look like a warrior poet!” Roman laughed, that protective-playful sound that always made me feel ten feet tall, and knelt to shake Tom’s paw. “I’m Roman, this is my family, and this dashing fellow with the makeup streaks is Pete. He’s got an imagination bigger than this park, but he’s never met a cat-and-mouse team who were friends before!” Tom and Jerry exchanged a look that spoke of a thousand shared adventures. “Friendship,” Tom rumbled softly, “is about choosing each other, no matter what the cartoons say.” As we walked together toward the main stage area, the grass beneath my paws felt like a plush emerald carpet, and the sky stretched above us like a canvas of endless blue possibility. I trotted between Roman’s sturdy legs and Tom’s silky stride, feeling like I belonged to a storybook where every species was a chapter in the same wonderful tale. Lenny pointed toward a shimmering expanse in the distance, his finger like a compass needle. “Look, Pete! The lake! They’ve got dock-diving competitions. Maybe you’ll want to try—” But before he could finish, Roman was already challenging me to a race, his sneakers kicking up clover as he sprinted toward the water’s edge. “Last one there is a soggy tennis ball!” he shouted. My heart leaped with the thrill of the chase, and I bounded after him, my family’s laughter trailing behind me like a safety net of love. I didn’t know it then, but in my rush to win, I was running straight toward the first chapter of my greatest fear, and away from the hands that kept me safe. **Chapter Two: The Mirror of Shivering Glass** We burst through the final line of willow trees, and suddenly the world opened into a vast, glittering expanse that stopped my paws mid-stride. The lake sprawled before us like a sleeping giant, its surface catching the sunlight and transforming it into thousands of dancing, golden needles that pierced my eyes and made my stomach drop into my paws. It wasn’t just water; it was a mirror of liquid sky, deep and endless and hungry. My breath hitched in my throat, coming out in short, panicked huffs that tasted like iron. Every muscle in my small body seized, frozen by a terror so profound it felt like the earth itself had tilted. The water wasn’t just wet; it was an abyss that whispered promises of sinking, of cold darkness closing over my head, of being swallowed whole where no one could hear my bark. Roman skidded to a stop at the shore, his sneakers kicking up pebbles that plunked into the shallows with sounds like distant gunshots to my terrified ears. He turned, his face alight with excitement, completely unaware that I was standing rooted to the grass, my white fur standing on end, my painted eyes wide as saucers. “Come on, Pete!” he called, his voice echoing across the surface that suddenly seemed to ripple with menacing intent. “The dock is right here! Just a little splash! I’ll catch you!” He held out his arms, those strong, protective arms that had lifted me over puddles and carried me through thunderstorms, but now they seemed miles away, separated by an ocean of my own terror. I tried to move my legs, commanded them to run to him, but they trembled like leaves in a hurricane, locked in place by the irrational certainty that the water would rise up like a monster and drag me down. “Pete?” Roman’s voice shifted, the playfulness draining away, replaced by concern as sharp as a bark. “Buddy, what’s wrong?” He took a step toward me, his shadow falling across the grass, but I was already backing away, my paws scrambling against the turf. The fear wasn’t just about getting wet; it was the primal, ancient terror of the unknown depths, of losing control, of the cold embrace that waited just beneath the surface. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird trying to break free, and a whine escaped my throat, high and keening, the sound of a puppy who suddenly realized how small he was in a world full of giants and glassy, watching waters. I turned, not toward my family, but away, driven by instinct older than thought, by the need to flee the thing that made my soul shiver. I bolted. The world became a blur of green and brown as I ran, not with the joy of the race, but with the desperation of prey. Behind me, I heard Roman shouting my name, heard the panic in his voice, but the terror had plugged my ears with cotton. I weaved through picnic blankets, dodged between legs that felt like forest trunks, and plunged into a section of the park where the trees grew thick and the crowds thinned. When I finally stopped, lungs burning, legs shaking, I lifted my snout to the air and sniffed for the familiar scent of Lenny’s aftershave or Mariya’s lavender perfume, but found only the alien smells of strangers and distant grills. The realization struck me like a physical blow: I was separated. Alone. The park that had been a wonderland moments ago now yawned around me like a maze of terror, and the sun that had been my friend now seemed to be sinking toward the horizon, stealing my light with it. **Chapter Three: The Architecture of Alone** The silence that descended was heavier than a wool blanket soaked in rain. I stood beneath an ancient oak tree, its branches sprawling like the arms of a giant trying to embrace the sky, but I felt no comfort in its shade. The fear of separation wasn’t just an emotion; it was a physical presence, a weight pressing down on my shoulders, making my tail droop until it dragged in the dust. I barked once, then twice, the sound pathetic and small in the vastness of the park. “Lenny?” I tried, my voice cracking. “Mariya? Roman?” The names tasted like home, but they floated away unanswered, swallowed by the rustling leaves and the distant thrum of the festival that now seemed impossibly far. My breath came in shallow gasps, and I realized with a fresh lance of panic that I couldn’t remember which direction I’d come from. Every path looked the same, every tree a mocking replica of the last. My imagination, usually my greatest gift, turned traitor. Behind every bush lurked shadows with teeth. The wind wasn’t just air anymore; it was a whispered threat. I curled into a tight ball, my white fur camouflaging me against the pale bark, my painted eyes squeezed shut as tears leaked from the corners. *I’m just a small puppy,* I thought, the internal monologue a desperate whimper. *I’m just one little spark in a world of darkness, and I’ve lost my matches.* The minutes stretched into eternities, each one marked by the sickening thud of my heart. I thought of Roman’s arms, of Dad’s jokes, of Mom’s magical way of seeing light in everything, and the absence of them felt like a hole carved right through my center. “Hey there, little cloud of sadness,” came a voice, smooth as cream but warm as fresh bread. I jerked my head up to see Tom the cat emerging from between two ferns, his gray fur dappled with sunlight, and behind him, Jerry the mouse scurrying up a root to look me in the eye. “We saw you rocket past like a white blur of panic,” Jerry said, his tiny paws on his hips in a stance of defiant concern. “You nearly knocked over our juggling pins!” Tom sat down gently, his large form radiating a calm that made the screaming in my skull quiet down just a notch. “Lost your pack, huh?” he asked, his green eyes soft with understanding. I nodded, unable to speak, my throat thick with the fear of being permanently unmoored. “Happened to me once,” Tom admitted, his tail twitching. “Got locked in a garage for three days. Scariest thing I ever faced. But you know what? Fear is just love turned inside out—we’re only afraid because we have something precious to lose.” Jerry scrambled down and stood on my front paw, his weight barely noticeable but his presence anchoring. “We’ll help you find them,” he squeaked with a bravery that belied his size. “But first, you gotta stand up. Heroes don’t find their families lying in the dirt.” His words, so simple, struck a chord in my chest. I wasn’t just a lost puppy; I was Pete the Puggle, storyteller and adventurer. With trembling legs, I stood. Tom nudged me gently with his shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Now, which way is north?” I sniffed the air, catching the faint, sweet scent of Mom’s perfume drifting like a ghost on the breeze. “That way,” I said, my voice steadier. “Toward the old stone bridge.” Tom’s face clouded momentarily. “The bridge means crossing the stream…and going through the tunnel,” he said quietly. My fur bristled. Water. And darkness. Two fears waiting like sentinels between me and home. **Chapter Four: The Cathedral of Shadows** We moved as a unit, Tom’s bulk providing comfort on my left, Jerry’s quick scampering scouting ahead on the right. As we ventured deeper into the wooded section, the canopy thickened, knitting itself together until the sunlight became a memory rather than a reality. The fear of the dark descended upon me not as a sudden shock, but as a creeping chill, starting at my paws and climbing upward like vines of ice. The trees ceased to be trees and became pillars holding up a roof of shadow. Every snap of a twig underpaw was a monster cracking its knuckles. Every rustle was a creature sliding closer. My breath fogged in the cooling air, little clouds of anxiety that vanished into the gloom. “It’s just the world tucking in for the night,” Mariya’s voice echoed in my mind, a memory of her tucking me into my bed, but the reality of the dark woods made that comfort feel very far away. Tom paused, his ears swiveling. “I’m not ashamed to say it,” he whispered, his voice carrying the tremor of authenticity. “I hate water. Always have. The way it moves, unpredictable, carrying you where you don’t want to go…it’s my nightmare.” Jerry looked up from a patch of moss he was investigating. “And I’m terrified of heights,” he chirped, climbing back to Tom’s shoulder where he felt safe. “But I climb anyway, because the view is worth the shaking knees.” Their admissions bloomed in my chest like warm flowers. Here were two creatures, so different from me and each other, carrying their own heavy suitcases of fear, yet still moving forward. I realized that courage wasn’t the absence of these terrors; it was walking with them, acknowledging them as companions rather than masters. “I’m scared of the water,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper in the dimness. “And the dark. And being alone.” Naming them made them shrink, just a fraction, but enough to breathe. We reached the stream as the last fingers of sunlight withdrew behind the trees. The water chuckled over stones, a sound that should have been merry but to my ears was the laughter of a trickster waiting to pull me under. On the other side yawned the mouth of the old stone tunnel, a black throat that swallowed the path whole. There was no way around; we had to go through. My legs shook so violently I thought I might fall over. The darkness inside that tunnel wasn’t just lack of light; it was a physical substance, thick and suffocating. I thought of Roman, how he never let me give up on learning to fetch, how he’d throw the ball again and again until my confidence bloomed. *Be the puppy he believes you are,* I told myself. *Be the hero of your own story.* Tom sat down at the water’s edge, his tail wrapping around his paws. “I can’t do it,” he said, his voice small. “I’m sorry, Pete. I’m a coward.” Jerry looked between us, his brave little heart pounding visibly in his chest. “Then we’ll do it together,” I heard myself say, the words surprising me with their strength. “One step at a time. We’ll be each other’s courage.” I took a breath that tasted like pine and possibility, and placed one paw into the stream. **Chapter Five: The Baptism of Brave Hearts** The cold shot through my paw like an electric shock, a jolt that traveled up my leg and seized my heart in an icy grip. Every instinct screamed *retreat*, *run*, *save yourself*. The current tugged at my fur with insistent fingers, trying to coax me deeper, promising to carry me away. I stood frozen, a statue of terror, as the water burbled around my ankles. Behind me, Tom let out a mewl of distress, his own fear of the unpredictable water paralyzing him. But then I felt Jerry’s tiny paw on my shoulder, warm and steady. “You’re doing it, Pete!” he encouraged. “You’re touching the monster, and it’s not biting!” His words were a lifeline thrown into the swirling panic of my mind. I thought of Lenny’s voice, warm and wise: *Every expert was once a beginner who was scared.* I took another step. The stones beneath my paws were slippery but solid, grounding me in reality. The water wasn’t a monster; it was just water. Cold, yes. Moving, yes. But not evil, not sentient, not hungry. I turned to Tom, extending my wet paw toward him. “Take my hand,” I said, my voice steadier now, ringing with the authority of emerging courage. “I won’t let it take you. I promise.” Tom looked at my paw, then at my face, and something shifted in his eyes—the recognition of shared vulnerability becoming shared strength. He reached out, placing his large paw in mine, and together we stepped into the stream. The water rose to my belly, cold and insistent, but my legs held. Step by step, inch by inch, we waded across, Jerry cheering from atop Tom’s head, his harmonica playing a brave little tune that cut through the sound of the current. Midway, the current tugged harder, and I slipped, my heart lurching into my throat like a bird trying to escape a cage. But Tom’s grip tightened, his claws extending just enough to hold my paw without hurting me. “I’ve got you,” he rumbled, and in that moment, the cat who feared water was my anchor. We steadied each other, a paradox of fear and fortitude, and pushed forward. When we reached the other bank, scrambling onto the mossy stone, we collapsed in a heap of fur and trembling limbs, but we were across. The water fear hadn’t vanished—I still felt its ghostly chill—but it had been faced, walked through, diminished by action. I stood up, shaking the droplets from my white coat, the makeup streaks around my eyes smudged but still defiantly bright. “We did it,” I breathed, and the words tasted like honey and victory. But there was no time to celebrate, because before us stood the tunnel, a mouth of absolute blackness. The fear of the dark returned, but it was different now—smaller, somehow, because I had just proven to myself that I could carry fear and still move forward. “The tunnel,” Jerry said, his voice echoing slightly against the stone. “It’s…really dark in there.” Tom stood up, his fur fluffing out. “But we have Pete now,” he said with a confidence that made my chest swell. “And Pete just crossed a river while carrying a scaredy-cat. He can handle a little darkness.” I looked at the tunnel, and I looked back at the stream we’d crossed. The choice was clear: go back to the fear we’d already conquered, or face the new one waiting in the shadows. I lifted my chin. “Follow me,” I said, and stepped into the dark. **Chapter Six: Through the Valley of the Shadow** The darkness inside the tunnel was a blanket soaked in ink, pressed against my face, filling my lungs with its heavy presence. I couldn’t see my own paws, couldn’t tell if my eyes were open or closed. The sounds of our breathing—my panting, Tom’s steady rumble, Jerry’s quick little inhalations—echoed back at us, distorted and strange, making it sound like there were six of us, then ten, then a hundred, all trapped in the stone throat. My heart raced again, but I kept it on a leash, remembering the stream. *Fear is a liar,* I told myself, repeating Mariya’s words like a mantra. *It tells you there are monsters when there are only shadows.* I took a step forward, my paw landing on gravel that crunched loudly, the sound bouncing off walls I couldn’t see. Tom pressed his side against mine, his warmth a beacon in the void. “Talk to me, Pete,” he said, his voice tight but trusting. “Tell us a story. You’re a storyteller, aren’t you? Light the dark with words.” So I began to speak, my voice trembling at first, then gaining strength like a flame catching a wick. I told them about Lenny, about how he once pretended to be a bear to scare away raccoons from our trash, but ended up befriending them and having a tea party. I told them about Mariya’s magic, how she could make a sunny day out of a rainy afternoon just by smiling. I told them about Roman, my protector, my rival, my best friend, and how he taught me that being brave didn’t mean being unafraid. The words painted pictures in the dark, and the dark began to feel less like an enemy and more like a canvas. Step by step, we advanced. Jerry began to sing, his high, clear voice weaving through my story, creating a tapestry of sound that pushed back the silence. The tunnel ceased to be a place of dread and became a concert hall, a private theater where three friends were weaving courage out of narrative and melody. I realized that the dark was just…empty space. It wasn’t filled with teeth; it was filled with potential. My paws found a rhythm, confident now, marching not away from fear but through it, carrying my new friends with me. I thought about my family, about how they must be searching, how Roman’s heart must be breaking with worry, and that thought didn’t paralyze me—it propelled me. I had to get back to them. To do that, I had to walk through this darkness. And then, just when the story was reaching its climax, when the hero was about to save the day, a pinpoint of light appeared ahead. It was faint, a silver-gray promise, but it grew with every step, wider and brighter, until we were running toward it, our paws thundering against the stone. We burst out of the tunnel into the twilight, the sky above us a bruised purple and gold, the first stars winking into existence. We had traversed the darkness. We had conquered the tunnel. I stood on the grass, chest heaving, and howled—not a howl of fear, but a howl of triumph, a declaration that Pete the Puggle had faced the night and won. **Chapter Seven: The Sound of Salvation** The echo of my howl had barely faded when I heard it—a voice, cracked with worry but unmistakable, cutting through the evening air like a searchlight. “PETE! PETE, WHERE ARE YOU?” Roman. My heart, which had just begun to calm, surged with a joy so fierce it felt like it might burst my ribs. I barked back, a rapid-fire series of yips that translated to *Here! I’m here! I’m okay!* We ran toward the sound, Tom’s heavy tread beside me, Jerry riding on my back now, his tiny claws gripping my fur. The woods that had seemed so threatening now parted like curtains, revealing a clearing where a figure was pushing through brambles, his clothes torn, his face streaked with dirt and tears. Roman. When he saw me, his whole body crumpled for a second, as if his strings had been cut, and then he was running, falling to his knees, scooping me up in arms that shook with relief. “Pete,” he gasped, his face buried in my neck, his tears warm against my fur. “Oh, thank God. Thank God. I’ve been looking for hours. I was so scared. Mom and Dad are frantic. We thought…we thought…” He couldn’t finish, his voice breaking into sobs that were also laughter, a wild mixture of terror and gratitude. I licked his face, tasting salt and love, my tail wagging so hard it drummed against his chest. “I’m sorry,” I whined, nuzzling his cheek. “I ran. I was scared of the water. But I’m brave now. I’m so brave, Roman. I crossed a stream, and I went through a tunnel, and I made friends!” Roman pulled back, his eyes widening as he noticed Tom and Jerry standing politely a few feet away, Tom’s tail giving a hesitant wag of greeting. “You…you crossed the stream? The one by the old bridge? Pete, you hate water. You shake during baths,” he said, his voice filled with wonder. I nodded, sitting up proudly in his lap. “I was terrified. My legs were jelly. But I had to get back to you. And Tom helped me. And Jerry. We helped each other.” Roman looked at the cat and mouse, understanding dawning in his eyes. “Friends,” he said softly, “really do make us stronger, don’t they?” He stood up, cradling me in one arm, and extended his other hand to Tom. “Thank you. Thank you for keeping my little brother safe.” Tom bumped his head against Roman’s palm. “He kept us safe too,” the cat purred. “He’s got a lion’s heart in that puggle body.” Jerry scampered up Roman’s sleeve to sit on his shoulder. “We should get back,” the mouse advised. “The festival is ending, and I bet your parents are waiting by the main gate.” Roman nodded, clutching me close as if I might vanish again if he didn’t hold on tight. As we walked back toward the lights of the main park, the moon rising full and silver above us, Roman told me about the search—how Lenny had organized a volunteer group, how Mariya had used her intuition to guess I’d gone toward the woods, how Roman had refused to stop even when it got dark. “I was so afraid,” Roman admitted, his voice low. “Afraid I’d lost you. Afraid you were scared and alone.” “I was,” I said, nuzzling his neck. “But I learned that even when I’m alone, I’m brave. And I’m never really alone, because you’re always in my heart.” **Chapter Eight: The Circle Unbroken** The main gate of Prospect Park had never looked so beautiful, its ironwork like lace against the night sky, and standing beneath the archway were two figures I would have recognized in a hurricane. Lenny was pacing, his usually jovial face drawn and pale, his hands running through his hair. Mariya stood perfectly still, her eyes closed, her lips moving in what might have been a prayer or a spell of protection. When Roman called out, “We found him! He’s here!” time seemed to stop. Then Mariya’s eyes flew open, and she was running, her arms outstretched, her shawl flying behind her like wings. Lenny was right behind her, his long legs eating up the distance. I leaped from Roman’s arms into the safety of Mariya’s embrace, and she caught me, holding me so tight I could feel her heartbeat thundering against mine. “My baby,” she whispered, her voice a river of relief. “My brave, silly, wonderful baby. You’re here. You’re here.” Lenny enveloped us both in his massive arms, his laughter finally breaking through the worry, that warm, silly sound that meant everything was going to be okay. “Pete,” he said, his voice thick. “You gave us quite the scare. I was about to offer a reward of a thousand bacon strips to whoever found you.” I licked his chin, my body finally relaxing completely, the last tremors of fear draining away into the solid ground of my family’s love. “I’m sorry I ran,” I said, my voice muffled against Mariya’s shoulder. “The water scared me so much. But I faced it. And the dark. And being lost.” We sat on a bench under a streetlamp that buzzed with moths, and I told them everything—the terror of the lake, the panic of separation, meeting Tom and Jerry, the stream, the tunnel, the transformation of fear into footsteps forward. Lenny listened, his wise eyes glistening, nodding at every word. “You know, Pete,” he said, scratching behind my ears in that perfect way only he knew how, “courage isn’t about not being scared. It’s about being scared and choosing to take the next breath anyway. You did that. You grew today.” Mariya kissed my forehead, right between the smudged makeup streaks. “You found your roar, little one. And you found friends who helped you see that you always had it.” Tom and Jerry sat on the bench beside us, and Lenny produced a flask of warm milk and some cheese crackers from his backpack—he always carried snacks, just in case. Roman sat close, his arm around my shoulders, and for a moment we just breathed together, a constellation of family and new friends, safe in the pool of light. “I was supposed to protect you,” Roman said softly. “But you ended up teaching me.” I leaned against him. “We protect each other,” I corrected. “That’s what packs do. That’s what stories do. They hold hands in the dark.” **Chapter Nine: Constellations of Courage** The festival had quieted to a hum of evening crickets and the soft packing away of tents, but our little group remained on the bench, wrapped in blankets that smelled of home. Above us, the stars had emerged, pinpricks of light in the vast dark, and I realized that the darkness wasn’t empty—it was full of distant suns, just waiting to be seen. Tom curled at my feet, his tail wrapping around my paws, while Jerry nested in the crook of Mariya’s elbow. “You know,” Jerry said, his voice dreamy with fatigue, “I think the scariest part of any adventure is the moment before you take the first step. After that, you’re just…walking.” Tom purred in agreement. “And the water,” he added, “is just water. It’s not the monster I imagined. It’s just…wet.” We all laughed, a gentle sound that floated up to join the stars. Lenny cleared his throat, his storyteller’s voice taking on that special resonance he used for important things. “Today, Pete learned that fear is a compass. It points us toward the things we need to face to become who we’re meant to be. He faced the water and found he could swim through life’s currents. He faced the dark and found he carried his own light. He faced being lost and found that love is a map that always leads home.” Mariya nodded, her hand stroking my back. “And we learned that our little puppy is growing into a wise, brave dog who makes friends with cats and mice, and who reminds us that family isn’t just about blood—it’s about who stands beside you when the path gets dark.” I looked at each of them—my dad’s warm strength, my mom’s magical perception, my brother’s protective love, and my new friends’ loyal courage. I thought about the stream, about the tunnel, about the moments when my heart had hammered like a drum of war. I had been terrified, yes, but I had also been determined. The fears hadn’t disappeared; they had transformed into rungs on a ladder that lifted me back to love. “I’m not afraid of being scared anymore,” I said, my voice clear and strong in the night air. “Because I know that on the other side of fear is a story worth telling. And I know I have the best family—and the best friends—to help me tell it.” Roman picked me up, cradling me like the precious gift I was, and we began the walk to the car, our shadows merging into one long shape that stretched toward the parking lot. The park had tested me, and I had passed—not by being fearless, but by being love-filled. As the car doors closed and the engine started, promising the short journey home to our warm bed and safe walls, I let out a contented sigh. Tom and Jerry waved from the gate, promising to visit, and I knew that tomorrow would bring new adventures, new fears to face, and new courage to find. But for now, nestled between Roman and Lenny, with Mariya’s hand resting on my head, I closed my eyes. I was home. I was brave. I was loved. *** The End ***
Use these buttons to read the story aloud:
No comments:
Post a Comment