Ricky Ticky noticed things other animals missed.
The way Tank’s shoulders stiffened before he barked.
The way JJ’s ears twitched when he was pretending not to be scared.
The way Tuffie always sat just a little apart from everyone else.
Ricky Ticky didn’t interrupt.
He observed.
That was his job.
When Uno burst through the Forest one afternoon, chaos followed—leaves flying, sticks snapping, laughter everywhere.
Everyone laughed.
Everyone except Ricky Ticky.
He saw it right away.
Uno wasn’t being wild.
Uno was being loud because no one had asked him to slow down.
Ricky Ticky climbed onto a log and cleared his throat.
“Uno,” he said gently.
“There’s a lot happening in your head, isn’t there?”
Uno froze.
No one had ever said that before.
Ricky Ticky scooted closer.
“You don’t need to mess around to be seen,” he continued.
“We already see you.”
Uno sat down.
The Forest went quiet.
Later, Tank leaned over to Ricky Ticky and whispered, “How do you always know?”
Ricky Ticky smiled.
“I listen,” he said.
“Before I speak.”