Fur Ball coughed up its furballs. The first clogged its throat, and it darted out from a crimson lacquered bo…
Fur Ball coughed up its furballs.
The first clogged its throat, and it darted out from a crimson lacquered box, while the young girl inside hid her face. Fur Ball arched its back and spat out a soft tuft of snow-white fur.
The second furball was damp and heavy. The girl was carried back to her tent—alive, but tasting of salt and sorrow. Fur Ball licked the corner of its mouth and spat out another tuft of white fluff.
The third tangled with sand. The fourth tinged with blood. The fifth dissolved into the snow... Fur Ball carefully hid each one, tenderly guarding every fragile plume.
It waited patiently for the spring winds to lift the desert dust and those furballs, like drifting willow fluff across the sky, like those floated over Chang'an. Would the girl's smile finally return?
Fur Ball bowed its head, licked its paw, and spat out one more silky furball. And then another. And another still.