(June 13, 2002; it was just a random image, and there's probably nowhere to go from here)
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The cold breeze was really quite pleasant, Yehi mused, wiggling his toes to dry the blood that clung so persistently to his claws. In fact, he thought that he could almost feel cheerful, despite his precarious position, if not for the way the people below giggled and pointed, their eyes dancing with far too much mirth for the occasion. Why must this always happen? Every time he managed to do something that might earn him some sort of adult recognition, he ended up exposing his tail - and the rump it curved beneath - to the public in general. He grew still as he recalled the last such time, inadvertently locked out of his home after so valiantly lunging out of his second-floor window to catch the thief who had thought himself clever enough to run off with the family crest (and what sort of fool wore breeches to bed in midsummer?), and felt his cheeks warm as he redoubled his efforts to scramble back up onto the ledge.

Yehi was fifty-six Seasons (fourteen dances of Winter), three moons, and between ten and fifteen days old - he would know more exactly if his mother had been able to tell him the precise day during which he fell from her womb. No matter, however; it was hardly her fault that she had been so far from civilization when his indeterminate day of birth came that the blanket of branches overhead obscured the very turn from day to night. The point was that he was nearly an adult in his own opinion, and more than ready to prove himself to his family, his clan, and his spirits. It was almost time to dance for the Unseen - a dance his mind and heart alone would perform - and he felt the need to be worthy as easily as he felt the thrumming of his pulse. The only way to become a full member of the Clan of Coyote Eyes was to impress the being; if he failed, its magics and wisdom would be beyond his reach until his next birthday, which was simply unacceptable.