To Bun, every last Challvillite was like some sort of slave. Strange, but true. They didn’t seem to realize that it’s possible to do whatever you want in life. You can dance any time, jump anytime, walk on the beach anytime. The only thing stopping you is the people who are so unimaginative and dull.

Bun let this bother him for a while. He didn’t want to tell anyone, because he didn’t want to risk upsetting his family, with whom he was already on shaky ground.

But finally, he couldn’t take anymore, and one night, when he heard Choggo outside his tent, shaking his maracas at the full moon, Bun emerged to tell his story.

Choggo put his maracas down and listened. When Bun was done, Choggo lifted his head to look at the moon. His eyes gleamed a reflective white. Then he looked a Bun and said, “you don’t need me to tell you what to do. You only need to listen to your heart.”

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Bun did know. That very night, Bun collected his things and stole off.

As Bun was leaving, Choggo handed Bun one of the stones he had given.

“Something to remember your roots by,” he said. It was an unremarkable stone, but pretty, smooth and white and cool in his hand with seaweed imprints like flecks of lightning.

There was fear in his heart, but also excitement. This was his adventure. Bun needed adventure. His muscles and bones and spirit thirsted for it. He was breathing excitedly. He could hardly believe he was really leaving. But as he entered the forest, stepping over all the little stones his parents had confiscated over the years, he knew he was doing what he had always wanted to do.

Bun left Challville with no regrets.