Splinter stood from a few feet away, his green walking stick in his hand. He watched with interest as his four infant sons crawled along the floor. They were still very little, a month or two old, but they were growing rather quickly, much faster than human youth. Perhaps that was part of being a young mutant.

As Splinter watched, the four turtles crawled slowly across the floor. This was their only way of getting around on their own; Splinter would have to carry them otherwise. But he hoped that would change. He'd been bringing them out into a bare spot in the lair for about a week now, giving them space, hoping they would learn to walk.

So far, no such luck.

But Splinter would not give up on his sons. He continued to bring them to that spot, and he continued to hope that they would walk. And he knew it would happen eventually. He knew from experience that things took time. He would just have to be patient with them.

Focusing back on the turtles, he saw each of them was doing their own thing. Little Donatello seemed to be studying the ground, feeling the floor with his small green hands and crawling along. Raphael was playing with a rag he'd found, tearing and ripping it apart with his little hands. Michelangelo was stuck on his back, flailing his arms and legs in panic as he struggled to turn himself over. And Leonardo...

What was Leonardo doing?

The oldest of his sons was in an odd position, is hands on the floor, his rear in the air. His arms trembled, like he was pushing, and his face was scrunched in frustration.

It occurred to Splinter right then what could be happening.

Suddenly, little Leonardo stood.

He'd been trying to push himself up. He'd been trying to stand up.

Splinter's whiskers twitched in surprise and interest.

Go on, my son, he willed Leonardo.

Slowly, Leonardo lifted one big green foot and put it in front of him. He stared in wonder at his foot, then tried to move his other foot.

And he walked.

Leonardo looked excited. He kept taking little steps, moving slowly but eagerly across the room. He walked by his brothers, who stared in awe and wonder at him. Raphael tried to stand up, too, and Splinter's heart skipped a best when he actually made it.

Donatello tried next, slowly pushing himself up and trying to take steps of his own. Within moments, the three of them were teetering across the lair, eyes bright with delight.

Splinter looked over at Michelangelo. The smallest of his sons was still stuck on his back. He saw his brothers walking and began to cry, his wails echoing around the lair.

"Oh," Splinter said, walking over to him. "Would you like to walk too, my son?"

He gently took Michelangelo in his hands and set him on both feet on the ground. The little turtle smiled, clapping his hands in delight. He tried to take a step forward, but fell straight to the ground. He started to cry again.

Splinter reached out to help, but before he could, Michelangelo (ever so slowly) picked himself back up. Splinter watched in amazement as the little turtle turned shakily and took his first steps.

Right to him.

"I believe you have learned a lesson, my son," Splinter said, taking his son in his arms. "When you fall, you must get back up again. It is the only way to succeed."

Michelangelo clapped his hands. He turned away and took his little steps again, heading for his brothers.

Splinter smiled.

Michelangelo had fallen.

He'd gotten back up again.

He'd succeeded.

And he'd learned his very first lesson.