Toby, a teenage turtle with mossy-green skin and a shell marked by years of Southern sun, stood at the edge of the dock. A battered suitcase rested beside him, its handle frayed from many goodbyes. He looked back at the sleepy town he called home, the sound of cicadas and croaking frogs fading into memory. The bus waited, engine humming, ready to take him north to Detroit—a city he’d only seen in pictures.
Stepping off the bus, Toby felt out of place among hurried commuters and blaring car horns. His shell seemed dull against the city’s electric lights, and the ground vibrated beneath his webbed feet. He clutched his suitcase, eyes wide, trying to absorb the new world around him. "So this is Detroit… not a cypress in sight," he murmured, half in awe, half in fear.
Toby wandered through the maze of city blocks, the rhythm of Detroit pulsing in his chest. He caught sight of a mural splashed across a brick wall—a turtle painted in vibrant colors, wearing city headphones. For a moment, he felt seen, even if just by the city’s artists. "Maybe this place won’t be so bad after all," he whispered, tracing the outline of the mural with a shy smile.
Inside, Toby met Maya, a sharp-eyed city rabbit with a knack for making friends and a quick laugh. She noticed his Southern drawl and the way he fumbled with the washing machines. "You’re not from around here, are you? Need a hand with those quarters?" she teased, offering him a grin as warm as the dryers behind her. Toby chuckled, grateful for a friendly face in the urban maze.
Toby unpacked his suitcase, arranging faded photographs and a jar of bayou mud on the windowsill—a small shrine to his old life. Rain tapped against the glass, but inside, the space felt a little brighter. "I can make this work," he said, voice growing steadier. The city’s unfamiliar symphony had started to sound like home.
With Maya by his side and a new circle of friends, Toby felt his old fears shed like last year’s shell. He watched the Detroit lights blink to life, feeling both small and infinite, a Southern turtle woven into the city’s patchwork. "Sometimes you have to leave the bayou to find your real pond," he mused, the city’s heartbeat echoing his own.
