The little hedgehog tiptoes toward the flower beds, one bright red berry already balanced on his tongue. Hic! The berry bounces free and rolls into the tall grass.
Hic! His little paws jump apart all by themselves. He hops sideways, then stops and sniffs at the empty spot where his berry used to be.
Hic! He sits down hard. A picture book about bodies slides off the shelf and lands open — a diagram shows a tiny muscle under the lungs that twitches when it's bored.
"My body is boring me," he thinks. Hic! The book flaps shut on its own. He pinches his nose and swallows hard, holding every breath until his ears turn pink.
He counts to ten, to twelve, to fifteen — his toes curl — and lets it out with a mighty sneeze. Hic. The sneeze booms, but the hiccups stay right where they were.
The little hedgehog tries again, breathing in slow — one, two, three — then out — one, two, three — until the rhythm almost sounds like a lullaby.
Hic. His eyelids droop, but the hiccups tap dance right back in again. "This is the worst hiccup ever," he thinks.
Hic! He marches to the cold-water stream at the edge of the clearing, cups both paws, and tips the icy water past his lips.
Shiver. Every quill on his back stands straight up like a bottlebrush. The cold shocks him right out of his tracks.
Hic — PHWEEEE. The hiccup pops out like a cork from a bottle, and the stream bubbles once, as if giggling.
The little hedgehog blinks. He waits. Nothing. Not even a tiny hic. He lets out a soft breath and tips more stream water over his head.
The little hedgehog trots back to the flower beds, tail held high, and finds one perfect red berry waiting for him in the grass.