Feet. Feet everywhere. So many feet.
Just as chaotic things seemed up on the level of the bipeds, it was an even more convoluted mess down at porcine-level. He ducked, he weaved, he pounced, he bounced. Gran skittered wildly to avoid both leg and the occasional swiping hand that emerged from the irate jumble of faces and torsos overhead.
And the shouting, so much shouting. All of it angry, all of it reminiscent of the baby behemoth's life before Chachanji. He didn't want to be grabbed, he didn't want to be shoved back into that tiny cage, to be shoved back into that life. That drive - that fear - empowered him, gave strength to his little legs. It was that determination that nearly got him out of that upset crowd.
"Nearly" being the key word.
In front of him, the form of a female biped dropped down suddenly in front of him. He tried to dodge, to change direction sharply to avoid her. His wee feet failed him them, tangling up in each other as they all tried different things to escape the collision. The end result was the little porker tripping over himself, bouncing once against the cobblestones of the street, before slamming lengthwise into the woman's leg. With a squeak.
Gran whined a bit from his proned position, kicking his little legs weakly from the shock. The voice of the woman garnered his attention, got his shiny little black eyes open and focused on her. He liked the fact that he heard the word "lunch." He didn't like the way she said it while looking at him.
Gran flailed again, more energetically, trying to get back on his feet. And when he got scooped up in a pair of powerful arms, he flailed all the harder.
Just as chaotic things seemed up on the level of the bipeds, it was an even more convoluted mess down at porcine-level. He ducked, he weaved, he pounced, he bounced. Gran skittered wildly to avoid both leg and the occasional swiping hand that emerged from the irate jumble of faces and torsos overhead.
And the shouting, so much shouting. All of it angry, all of it reminiscent of the baby behemoth's life before Chachanji. He didn't want to be grabbed, he didn't want to be shoved back into that tiny cage, to be shoved back into that life. That drive - that fear - empowered him, gave strength to his little legs. It was that determination that nearly got him out of that upset crowd.
"Nearly" being the key word.
In front of him, the form of a female biped dropped down suddenly in front of him. He tried to dodge, to change direction sharply to avoid her. His wee feet failed him them, tangling up in each other as they all tried different things to escape the collision. The end result was the little porker tripping over himself, bouncing once against the cobblestones of the street, before slamming lengthwise into the woman's leg. With a squeak.
Gran whined a bit from his proned position, kicking his little legs weakly from the shock. The voice of the woman garnered his attention, got his shiny little black eyes open and focused on her. He liked the fact that he heard the word "lunch." He didn't like the way she said it while looking at him.
Gran flailed again, more energetically, trying to get back on his feet. And when he got scooped up in a pair of powerful arms, he flailed all the harder.
