“What are you teeny guys, anyway? What do you want from us? What do you want from me?”
From beneath her bed, from the bathroom, from under the closet door, more wugs appeared. Dozens more. The range of shapes and sizes was breathtaking. No two were alike. It was almost as if they were experimenting with themselves, searching for an ideal structure, trying to find the best way to be whatever it was they were. She could understand that. In many ways, she had embarked on the same kind of journey. Whirring and buzzing and humming softly to themselves, they climbed up onto the window seat, and onto her.
Evolving together they might be, she reflected, but there was no disputing who was the more ticklish. Covered in curious wugs, she began to giggle, then to laugh.
She wondered what that nice federale Angel Cardenas would have thought of it.