You pop your eyes open after dozing off. Is my narration so boring?
No! It’s Bagheera who’s dull. You should pester him.
To that end you sit up and shake the grogginess off yourself. “I don’t want to go anywhere,” you say. “I want to stay here in the jungle.”
“Huh?” Bagheera looks back at you and laughs. “Come now, don’t be foolish. This jungle is full of danger—even I have to stay alert. You wouldn’t last one day on your own.” He yawns and stretches one more time.
You sulk and stare at the panther. “I’m not afraid,” you say. “I can look”—and then you’re looking nowhere but up.
Snaking into your view from the leaves above is a lamia, her eyes shining brilliant colors you gravitate to. She smiles, what at first you think is a pitying smile, then maybe a hungry smile, but you just settle on as a beautiful smile. Her wavy hair flows down to her tail, which snakes up into the leaves above. But those eyes—her bright eyes are what fascinate you the most, and the colors seem to bore into your mind and soak in, numbing your head.
You try to remember what you were saying and finish your thought. “I–I can . . . look out . . . for . . . myself . . . I—can . . .” It’s all you can get out before your focus is overwhelmed by the beautiful lamia.
Or is it? Something doesn’t seem quite right here. Should you call out for help? Maybe help from . . . Oh, what was his name? Starts with D . . . No, B. Bagpipes. No, Bagheera! Should you call for Bagheera? Or maybe this feels too good. Maybe everything is quite right . . .