In a few days, Caterpillar was no longer inching up branches, but rather, gliding effortlessly on vivid black and orange paper-thin wings. He was hungry again, but not for leaves. Butterfly, for that is what he had become, was hungry for the juices of the tall yellow flowers rising around him. Caterpillar had never noticed the other caterpillars around him. Butterfly, on the other hand, noticed other butterflies around him, floating through the bluest of skies. He felt like floating with them. And they felt like floating with him.
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