I heard tell of a young hedgehog who broke out of her cage, left her brother and sister behind, and didn’t come back for dinner.
I can see her: running under couches, curling up like a dust bunny, sniffing and snuffling and doing that crazy hedgehog froth for every new smell.
“Come home, Hippolyta,” cry the sad, tame people. “Don’t you want your meal worms? Your kibble? Be a good girl and come run on your wheel.”
But Hippolyta won’t, not while the moon is out. She’s a wild little beast, and she does what she wants, always.