/lit/ - Literature

>>19803103
>‘Cheerio,’ Snufkin said, fidgeting a little. ‘Listen. Er. That name you asked for. What about Teety-woo, for instance. Teety-woo, don’t you see, a light beginning, sort of, and a little sadness to round it off.’
>The little creep stared at him with yellow eyes in the firelight. It thought its name over, tasted it, listened to it, crawled inside it, and finally turned its snout to the sky and softly howled its new name, so sadly and ecstatically that Snufkin felt a shiver along his back. Then a brown tail disappeared in the brambles, and all was silent.
>‘Golly,’ Snufkin said and kicked at an ember. He rapped out his pipe. Then he rose and shouted: ‘Hullo. Come back.’ But the wood was silent. Oh, well, Snufkin thought.
>You can’t always be friendly. It’s impossible, there isn’t the time. And at least this creep has got a name.
>He sat down again and listened to the brook and the silence, and waited for his tune to come back. But it didn’t come. He knew at once that it had moved too far away to be caught. Perhaps he’d never catch it. The only thing he seemed to hear was the eager and shy voice of the creep, talking and talking and talking.
>Why don’t they keep at home with their mothers, Snufkin said crossly and threw himself on his back on to the fir twigs. After a while he sat up and shouted once more. He listened for a long time, then he pulled his hat over his snout and went to sleep.