Pedro stopped at the edge of the cliffs and said nothing.
This was immediately concerning.
Below him, the Seven Sisters stretched along the East Sussex coastline in a series of vast, rolling chalk cliffs—majestic, ancient, and, until this moment, entirely beyond criticism.
Pedro stared at them.
“No,” he said quietly.
Jack followed his gaze. “They’ve been like that for a while.”
Pedro did not respond.
Twinkles stepped closer. “They’re beautiful.”
Pedro narrowed his eyes.
“They are misaligned.”
There was a pause.
Esmeralda looked out across the cliffs. “They’re… cliffs, Pedro.”
Pedro raised a paw.
“Seven,” he said.
“Yes.”
Pedro pointed.
“Not in a straight line.”
Jack folded his arms. “They follow the coastline.”
Pedro turned slowly.
“…which is also not straight.”
This, from his perspective, confirmed everything.
Pedro began pacing along the edge with measured urgency, stopping frequently to reassess angles that had not requested assessment.
“Elevation: inconsistent.”
“Spacing: irregular.”
“General arrangement: ambitious.”
Twinkles watched, fascinated. “What should they be?”
Pedro stopped.
He turned.
“Clear.”
There was a pause.
Jack blinked. “Clear how?”
Pedro gestured broadly at the entire coastline.
“Aligned.”
The cliffs remained profoundly unaligned.
Pedro nodded once.
“We will correct this.”
Esmeralda smiled gently. “I don’t think we can move cliffs, Pedro.”
Pedro looked at her with quiet patience.
“Not physically.”
Twinkles gasped. “Oh.”
Pedro climbed onto a slightly higher patch of ground, increasing his command presence by approximately three inches.
“Attention,” he said.
The wind moved across the cliff tops.
Pedro took this as acknowledgment.
“You are very impressive,” he continued. “However, your current formation lacks strategic clarity.”
Jack muttered, “They’re cliffs.”
Pedro ignored him.
“We will now implement alignment.”
There was a long silence.
Nothing moved.
Pedro nodded.
“Good.”
He turned slightly and began indicating positions with careful, deliberate gestures.
“You,” he said, pointing at the nearest cliff, “are now First.”
He pointed further along.
“You are Second.”
He continued.
“Third. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth. Seventh.”
Twinkles whispered, “Weren’t they already?”
Pedro paused.
“…unofficially,” he said.
Jack exhaled. “Of course.”
Pedro stepped back, observing his work.
The cliffs remained vast, immovable, and entirely unchanged.
Pedro nodded slowly.
“Better.”
Esmeralda folded her arms. “What changed?”
Pedro turned.
“Clarity.”
At that moment, a gust of wind swept along the cliff tops with considerable enthusiasm.
Pedro held his position.
“…movement,” he said.
Jack shook his head. “That’s just wind.”
Pedro raised a paw.
“Micro-adjustments.”
Twinkles nodded seriously. “I thought so.”
Pedro looked out across the Seven Sisters one final time.
They remained exactly as they had been for thousands of years.
Pedro adjusted his hat.
“Yes,” he said. “Now they make sense.”
And so it was formally recognised—by Pedro—that the Seven Sisters cliffs, having previously existed in a state of informal geological arrangement, had been successfully realigned through a process of numbering, observation, and decisive verbal instruction.
The cliffs did not move.
The coastline did not change.
But the situation, as Pedro later confirmed, was “considerably more organised.”
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