The babyling stood on unsteady legs. It took one step, then another. Each footfall left a faint, phosphorescent print that glowed for a heartbeat before fading. A robin paused on a twig, tilted its head, and sang a low, questioning note. The babyling tried to answer, but all that came out was a breath shaped like a question mark, drifting upward into the grey.
It stretched, clumsy and curious, on a mossy stone beside a brook that murmured secrets to the pebbles. A dewdrop slid from an oak leaf and landed on its nose. The babyling sneezed — a sound like a tiny bell ringing underwater — and where the sneeze landed, a cluster of silverpink mushrooms pushed up through the loam. lustery babyling
Here’s a short piece inspired by the phrase “lustery babyling” — a creature of drizzly, newborn light. In the lustery half-light of an April dawn, the babyling first opened its eyes. The babyling stood on unsteady legs