Milton slowly chewed a piece of algae. "Have you tried… not thinking about it?"

He heard the soft plink of a dewdrop. The rustle of a muskrat in the reeds. The distant courrr of a sleepy crow.

" "

Then, without thinking, without checklist, without panic—he opened his bill.

On the bank of the Silverweed Pond, under the pale blush of a 5:00 AM sky, Dandelion the duck was not okay.

Hence: duckquackprep.

"You don’t understand," Dandelion quacked, feathers ruffled. "A true quack has timbre . It has lift . It says, ‘Good morning, world, I am a duck, and I am unafraid of the morning!’ My quack right now says, ‘Good morning, world, I have a cold and my feelings are hurt.’"