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The afternoon sun filtered through the palm fronds, casting dappled light over the pride’s resting grounds. In the heart of it, sprawled across a soft patch of grass, lay Dreamland—perfection in pastel, stretched out like a queen who had never known hardship. Her sleek fur shimmered with hues of pink and blue, and her tail flicked lazily as she basked in the warmth.
Nearby, in a much less graceful heap, lay Fawnspring.
The young cub had inherited her mother’s beauty—soft gray rosette-speckled fur with hints of cream and rose, delicate features that promised elegance. A shame her personality did not match.
“I think,” Fawnspring announced, rolling onto her back with a dramatic sigh, “that I was absolutely not meant for this life.”
Dreamland, who had long mastered the art of ignoring nonsense, didn’t even open her eyes. “Do tell, darling.”
Fawnspring kicked her legs in the air. “I mean, really. I’m expected to be all… aware and responsible.” She wrinkled her nose. “Have they met me?”
Dreamland hummed. “They have, unfortunately. Word is spreading.”
Fawnspring huffed, flopping onto her side. “I was asked to help with the beetles today. Apparently, I was distracted.”
Dreamland cracked one eye open, amusement glinting in its depths. “Darling, you get distracted breathing.”
“Not true.” Fawnspring rolled onto her stomach, tail flicking. “I just have many thoughts. Important thoughts. Like… if birds can fly, why don’t we?”
Dreamland finally turned her head toward her daughter, lips twitching. “Fawnspring.”
“Yes, mother?”
“Please never say that where Neptuneus can hear you.”
Fawnspring grinned, resting her chin on her paws. “Oh, don’t worry. I only say things like that when I need to get out of something. It makes the adults nervous.”
Dreamland let out a quiet chuckle. “You are impossible.”
Fawnspring smirked, stretching her legs. “And yet, you love me.”
Dreamland sighed dramatically, rolling onto her back. “Regrettably.”
They lay in comfortable silence for a moment, the breeze rustling through the trees. Then, without opening her eyes, Dreamland murmured, “You do realize you’re going to have to be reliable at least once in your life, don’t you?”
Fawnspring gasped, scandalized. “Mother, I thought you loved me.”
Dreamland smirked. “Oh, I do. Which is why I’m telling you now, before the world disappoints you.”
Fawnspring groaned, burying her face in the grass. “Ugh. Responsibility. Sounds awful.”
Dreamland stretched luxuriously. “It is. Which is why I avoid it at all costs.”
Fawnspring perked up, hopeful. “So you’re saying—”
“I’m saying you don’t have my charm.”
Fawnspring gasped in mock horror, paw to her chest. “Betrayal!”
Dreamland only chuckled, flicking her tail against her daughter’s ear. “You’ll figure it out, my little disaster. You’re mine, after all.”
Fawnspring grinned, resting her chin on her paws once more. “That, I am.”
And for now, that was enough.
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