Slow-Poke Duckling's Arc

Chapter 4 of 9

Slow-Poke turned toward the shed, ready to take his place. But Mrs. Duck spread her wings once more before he could move. "Quack. Not yet." She steered him away from the dirt track and toward the weathered wooden table where the other ducks sometimes ate. "Quack! Sit." She set down a plate piled with eggs, bacon, berries, and bright slices of fruit. Slow-Poke stared at it. The crowd was still watching. Freddy honked once from across the yard, loud enough to carry. "Mom," Slow-Poke whispered. His feathers burned. He could feel every laugh from every animal stacking up again, fresh. "They're watching." "Quack. Let them." Mrs. Duck didn't sit. She stood beside the bench with her checkered scarf knotted tight. "You race on an empty belly, you lose before you start. Eat." Her voice was flat and certain. She had carried this worry from her kitchen counter all morning, and she would not put it down now. Slow-Poke picked up a piece of bacon. Then another. He ate the eggs. He ate the berries. The crowd grew bored and shifted. Freddy stopped honking. When the plate was empty, Slow-Poke felt something he hadn't expected. Heavy. Full. His belly sat low and warm, and his legs felt slower than before, not faster. Mrs. Duck nodded once, satisfied. She walked him back to the starting flag. Freddy was already there, grinning. Slow-Poke looked down at his own round middle and understood. He had eaten. He was ready. And he had never felt less like running in his life.