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LLEWELLYN CARADOC
WOOD STORK
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The universe sings. It sings through the crickets and the birds and the rippling current in the river. It sings through the breeze rustling
the marsh grasses and it sings through the creaking of the trees. It sings of purpose and path; of why every one is here. Li’l Joe Buick
Squirrel’s parents heard the music, and recognized it. It was somehow familiar and, they knew, their son was on his way.
The couple waited excitedly at the front door, his arms around her, their gaze panning the horizon. Llewellyn Caradoc Wood Stork had
been flying through the night to make this delivery on schedule. Of course, all of his deliveries were important; all incredibly special. The
sun was just cresting the hills to the east of the tiny home, hollowed halfway up an old flowering crabapple tree, as he rounded the last
turn. Li’l Joe Buick, his precious cargo, seemed to be eager to make his arrival, too. As Llewellyn looked down into his sachel, he could
see the tiny squirrel peeking out, filled with anticipation, his tail a-twitching.
The Public Carriage Office, responsible for regulating and licensing kinder cabriolets, authorizes only a handful of storks to carry the community’s petite voyageurs. Llewellyn Caradoc aced every test put before him. Some of his success came naturally; with his muscular,
broad wing-span. He also knew the local geography like the back of his wing, being born and raised in the neighbourhood. But the rest
came wholly through passion. Llewellyn knew that this is what he was born to do. Nothing gave him greater joy than delivering infants
to their forever homes, some so small, with eyes still shut tight; others, eyes aglow and helping navigate like the best backseat driver.
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