Thousand: Three Hundred Thirty-Three

Butternut. “It is possible that I have information, you know. To trade. Not living in a tree, I might know a thing or two.” The pause before the response is so long Butternut has a chance to prod about more thoroughly. Indeed, the pad seems firm enough to have been woven. You can never be too sure, considering. But Butternut is feeling snoozy. A nap, even under the eye of an unfriendly talking squirrel, is the sort of activity Butternut could indulge in just about now. Likelihoods. Dear, dear. “Tell me about this,” comes the voice, and an object flashes