Prince Albert Voice
Not based on true events
She wished with all her verdant heart that she would never be touched. It had been her hope ever since she popped up as a seedling by the twinkling crystal woodland spring. It was a perfect place for her wish to be fulfilled: lone and light with nought but the birds and very few beasts. She trembled every moment one of the creatures of the forest passed near, causing the sturdy ground to shake and rumble like a thundercloud beneath her roots. But thankfully, not one animal of the forest even brushed her delicate leaves or blooms or seed-capsules. A Gray Jay once landed near her stem, and very nearly swiped her with its feathery tail yet the peril was short-lasted and nothing touched her delicacy. But it was not to last, for one day there came a clumsy American Toad hobbling along like a stone with feet. Not caring where he went or how he went, the toad lumbered towards her, blind to all but his hazy goal, whatever it was. He did not jump, nor hop like a frog but crawled along heedlessly and soon his bulk was almost upon her. That moment, fate took care of itself. The amphibian, unaware of the plant before him, lifted a wormy-toed forelimb, and set it down-right upon one of her little seed pods! Plip! It popped open and the seeds within darted forth like speedy bullets, one catching the poor toad directly in his bulging eye while another bounced off his nose like a bead. What was that, the toad thought in surprise as he came to a standstill. Why does my eye ache? Why does my nose burn? ( He was exaggerating a great deal. In fact he did not ache at all.) For a moment, the toad could do nought but gaze in a sleepy daze about him, hoping to see the instigator of the attack, but he never would have guessed that it was the plant directly before him which sent the missiles. Finally, he decided that he would not chance another such fierce onslaught (the onslaught was in fact quite mild), and stomped off in another direction, trampling all in his path like a miniature elephant while behind him, unharmed and standing, was the little plant and her little cannon.
Not based on true events
What do you do when a fright takes you by surprise? What do you do when an imminent danger is grinning darkly down upon you? Do you cower and cringe? Does unstoppable and rigorous trembling overcome your body? Are your bones turned to stone or your nerves to steel? Above all, what is casting its shadow upon you? Is it a gargantuan rat glaring hungrily at his dinner?
Not based on true events
You may expect, by its name, for an Emerald Tree Boa to be emerald. What other hue could it possibly be? Could it be pink, purple, brown, or grey? Yet Coral, a month-old Emerald Tree Boa, was red! She thought herself quite a rare beauty for her colour, quite a gem in her vibrancy, yet she was about to have a immense surprise upon that point. It was on a colder day than usual when the memorable scene occurred, a day when being lazy was the surest remedy for a reptile, at least when it was in a patch of sun. And indeed she was. Coral had twisted her lithe coils about a branch which stretched far into a patch of light, and there, with the rays glinting magnificently off her ruddy scales, she rested. Her thoughts were upon her own unique beauty. She had beheld her parents once, yet they were of the of the normal verdant hue, and she pondered her luck in being so unusual unlike them. She was born to be admired, to stand out from the others, to go down in the history of snakehood, to- but Coral's thoughts halted their journey, for she heard a rustle of a moving being. It was among the foliage in an adjacent branch quite near to hers, and grew louder as the thing within became more active. Finally, it slithered out from its cover and Coral's eyes grew as wide as double suns in her utter astonishment. It was a bright fox-red boa! It was just like she, with orange scales interspersed upon its brilliant flesh! How could it be?! Her beauty was not her own alone? There was another with the same skin as she? Coral, in her devastation, dropped her head heavily upon the bough as the other young snake slithered away to other trees. It was as ruddy red as could be, indeed, thought she, and I am not alone in my beauty.
Based on true events
Finding food is a monotonous business. Yet it is pleasant, and in the end, wonderfully satisfying, but we must spend most of our short lives in this almost never-ending search. I, being a House Wren, have not a large body to sustain, yet the other day, in the bright, cheerful summer sun, I was toiling greatly for that very reason. Having a taste for insects might not sound too appetizing to you yet it is something which causes my bill to water whenever I see an invertebrate. It was a perfect day for a hunting such beings, a day of glowing grasses, smiling sunflowers, warmth all about, and insects a-plenty. I was doing my scouting in a lush garden, beneath wide lettuce leaves, and experiencing one of the most pleasant moments of my life. There were crawlers and creepers everywhere! I picked at beetles, their young, and worms, caterpillars and lacewings. There was no need to search far for I was surrounded wholly by a most appetizing meal. Yet I sensed that it was not the safest area for partaking of my feast, not at all! Why, only the day before had I spotted a orange puss venture through the rows of plants, and I did not wish to be caught if it so passed once more. Therefore, I exercised my wings after each catch, launching myself from the soily debris and onto the fence with my catch in my beak. Then, restricting my stay upon such a revealing perch, I dropped to the opposite side where, in the protective shield of bush and bramble, I partook of my meal in peace. Perhaps it was slightly laborious to perform such a routine for every insect, but I am quite sure it was well rewarded, for the puff-tailed puss never did find, or even behold my comings and goings in the garden. If he had, would I be recounting this tale? Surely not!
Not based on true events
Mrs. American Kestrel, a lovely female falcon, was a surprisingly unsuccessful huntress. Yes, she could support herself and yes, she did have a catch once in a while, but her dinners did not occur often. Many times she would be forced to go without a meal, to remain hungry for a day all because she was unable to grab a bite. Why she could never snatch up the mouse which had burrowed a den below her favourite perch, or grab a crunchy grasshopper which bounced before her, she and we shall never discover. But matters were greatly complicated when the one gaping mouth was joined by four others nestled deep within a dim tree cavity. Though she had not donned names upon them, we shall call them Nate, Willy, Puss, and Goldie, and it was now top priority to have them fed. Therefore Mrs. Kestrel along with her husband set off their separate ways in search of breakfast for their yammering brood. Mrs. Kestrel felt extraordinarily nervous uneasy and fidgety during this first expedition, and could hardly remain aloft, so full was she with emotion. With rapid, unsteady wing beats she fluttered low over the ground, her keen eyes searching the land. She had not been long upon her excursion when she caught sight of a spindly web strung long and lean between two tangled bushes. Ah, thought Mrs. Kestrel, silk and spiders go together! And dipping slightly, she flew directly towards her intended victim who was straddled in the centre of the sticky net. But lo! As soon as her shadow was near the silky ropes, the spider scrambled, panic-stricken, into the thick foliage and there remained for the rest of the day. Mrs. Kestrel, beholding this discouraging scene, arose sharply once more in the air, complaining loudly of her ill-luck. Hardly had she clacked her bill once in frustration when she spied a slithering serpent among the bending grasses just beyond, and she immediately pulled her wings near her feathered breast, stooped, and again she missed, for the snake disappeared in a hole as soon as her talons were near.