Leaf Coneybear has always been of the opinion that spending time in the outdoors is necessary for any good time. Such an opinion may have been affected by his family's tendency to kick him out of the house whenever he grew too noisy, but he has never connected these incidents to his love of the woods.
Today, he's been banished for gluing fabric to his hand. The blue scrap is still hanging by a thread, but he's long since stopped thinking about it. He's almost glad he was given an excuse to play outside: one of his brothers had begrudgingly given him their old slingshot, and he'd accepted it with a promise that he wouldn't hurt any animal.
Ginger hair falls into his eyes, and he holds his thumb out to help him aim. His target, a large pine tree only ten feet away, is easy enough to hit, but his hands have a tendency to shake and his mind has a tendency to wander. However, Leaf is nothing if not determined, and he takes a deep breath before lifting the toy and releasing one of the many rocks he had in his pocket.
It misses by a long shot, and though he hadn't expected to hit what he wanted it to, he is still disappointed. He thinks that by now, failure should come easy to him (his family insists it already does), but the way his hands drop to his sides demonstrate otherwise. He sighs, perhaps a bit too dramatically, and turns away, searching for a new target. He is surrounded by trees, but none of them feel right, and he's certain that if he finds the perfect spot, he'll hit it with no problem.
The trek through the woods is one he has made many times, and he can follow his usual trail with his eyes closed. It is the only area to show any sign of constant human presence, and even then, it is only slight. He walks through soft soil and thick grass, trying to step on the footprints he'd made the day before and nearly succeeding.
As he moves, he holds his slingshot up like it's a sniper rifle; he is Leaf Coneybear, famous wildlife exploration expert, or something like that, here to map out elusive jungles. The fabric on his hand waves in the air, a flag notifying all around him to his profession. His imagination is only fueled by how easily he can follow his path. Of course an expert would have no trouble on new terrain, and even if they did? Well, real life writes his scripts, so he decides what happens.
Engrossed in his fantasy, he remembers an upcoming patch of poison ivy without a moment to spare; it grows in the middle of his path, reminding him to always pay attention. He takes special care to step around the plants, knowing of his ability to end up with rashes without ever directly touching anything.
Though he'd really rather not, his mind immediately goes to the last lecture he'd gotten for going near poisonous plants. He thought that his parents not giving him any type of soothing lotion was punishment enough; the time they spent 'gently correcting' him told him they didn't agree.
He moves his hand to fiddle with the fabric absentmindedly, making use of it as an outlet for his always abundant energy. A moment later, it falls off and into his hand, leaving behind dry glue and a feeling of sudden lightness. He hums, studying the fabric as if he's just noticing it, before stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans. There's no reason to litter.
Returning to his previous game proves to be a struggle for him, as to be expected when he is torn away from something he'd been focused on. His mind always feels foggy afterwards, and he has to settle for continuing his path as he tries to avoid getting one of his headaches.
Eventually, he sits; at this point, the only option is to make his way back home, and to do so before he is called is more trouble than it is worth. Besides, he enjoys the background noise of the forest, and he closes them for a few minutes to try and identify as many sources of the noise as possible. He only gets to four before growing bored and opening his eyes.
Even before his eyes have fully focused, he notices the tree growing off to his left. Immediately, he straightens up and rummages through his pockets for a stone. This is the perfect spot he was looking for, and he can't risk losing that magic by not taking advantage of it. His family has always told him he needed to grow up and forget about all these fairy tales; he'd be inclined to believe them if he wasn't so certain that this clearing is under a legitimate enchanted.
He takes a deep breath, grateful that the stray fabric is no longer catching his hand on the wind. Though his hands are still quivering, he is confident in his aiming skills; he can nearly feel the spell flowing through his blood and making his fingers tingle.
"Leaf! If you want dinner, get over here now!" The call catches him off guard; it's too loud, and he jumps, releasing the stone and any magic that may have been contained therein. In all the excitement of the event, he just barely identifies the sound of rock against bark.
His head is starting to ache, but his joy at his (albeit accidental) bulls-eye causes him to grin and clap his hands together as if he has just won an award. He knew this place was magical; he has always known about these places.
His return home is punctuated by an announcement of his success; he certainly doesn't expect anyone to care, or even believe him, but he needs the world to know about the magic of the woods. Specifically, the magic of his woods - he likes to believe he's provided everything that makes it unique.
Hey, first fic on my new account! I really just wanted to explore some lesser discussed traits of ADHD that I headcanon Leaf as having, as well as his family's relationship (though the latter will probably be more explored in a future fic). I might do something like this for all the kids, but who knows!