Alpine Lake I don't wanna row, row, row the boat

mira sat near the waterside on a stone, sunning in the open. between her paws she held a bone, gnawing on it from an earlier catch. a rabbit- most of which she had left elsewhere after eating it at the kill site, and now she snacked only on the last hind leg, which she had carried with her when she decided to sit by the lake, attempting to clean off the last few chunks of meat.

her tail was tucked close to her in an attempt to keep her heat scent from floating off and drawing too many unwelcome guests- while she was not afraid, she was certainly cautious. and yet still, nothing could stop her from going where she wanted to go. hence her resting in the open.

pancakes on her way to brighten your day!

there certainly is a scent in the air as Pancakes takes flight, though that is perhaps how the world always is. new scents and faces, new breezes bring delights from faraway lands. Pancakes thought fondly of all her trips during her flights -- she's seen quite a lot for her butterfly days and even during her baby days as nothing but a caterpillar.

a simple moment to embrace, munching on her leaves and now look at her! mature enough to sip nectar with the tiger butterflies! what a world she finds herself in...

meat is such an unusual thing to Pancakes, mainly because she just doesn't quite see the appeal. it does not taste like sugar, if anything all she can taste is iron and metal (she might as well be licking pennies off the floor!) and while meat is not present, the calcified remain is tucked under the paw of another noble creature in line for a performance!

"there's miles of land in front of us,
and we're dying with every step we take."
(how would Pancakes know this? she flies everywhere...)

"a stranger's back is all i see!"
(well, at least this lyric is a little more accurate)

Pancakes can be heard fluttering around, just in sight to see if her newest companion may be friendly enough for a close landing. the pitter-patter and flappity-flap of her molten wings may be enough to distract her from a nice bone to pick away at!

mira was still contendedly gnawing at the nearly-bare bone, when a tiny noise caused her black ears to perk up, swiveling for a source. 

a stranger's back is all i see 

her head turned to glance on either side, and then behind her, but no one was whispering in her ear. her brows furrowed with confusion, frusturated with the feeling that she might be going crazy. 

it was then that she noticed an orange fluttering smudge of color in the air. a butterfly. mira tilted her head, expression blank but not unkind. is that you? she wondered aloud. her voice was a tad raspy from disuse, and she cleared her throat. you, butterfly?

aha, the creature speaks as all the others have come to do before her!

there is a gleeful sound from Pancakes when she is finally noticed, and in order to give a response to the lingering question from her rumbly friend, the butterfly happily sends off a new tuned lyric that has taken the entire world by storm in terms of the humans.

"it's me, hi!"
(aw, isn't that the friendliest thing ever?)

"i'm the problem, it's me!"

fluttering and fluttering more, Pancakes drinks up what she sees and comes closer and closer, throwing caution and personal space to the wind as she practically hovers above Mira for a moment as her butterfly eyes search for a muse.

"the black rose will find its way home."

a thorned beauty this one is, with rich pollen eyes and a voice that says 'history has tried to wipe me away, and yet here i am'. Pancakes can only swell so much with excitement as she looks for a landing spot near where this dark rose lays.

it fluttered around her, barely audible and yet- there was that voice, carried on the dust of the air. it's me, hi! mira tilted her head, gazing at the tiny thing with a sort of awe. it was not the sort of creature that mira would usually care for- she had a preference for the strong. but this tiny and delicate thing was like a beautuful little work of art. perhaps mira did not have the full capacity to appreciate it, and yet, no desire to harm or disturb it. it was no threat to her or her goals, thus she could let it be. and simply observe. 

the black rose will find its way home

was mira the black rose? did the butterfly know she was headed to moonspear, her birthplace and self-proclaimed home that she had a right to? no... no, there was no way. but it intrigued her still. and to wonder why this creature spent its time making poetry to someone like this dark beast? if she was a rose, what made her feminine or fragrant enough to be one? who was mira to even appreciate or reciprocate it? but no wolf had ever done such a thing for her, to allow her to be the recipient of this momentary art. in a way it was made more beautiful by this butterfly's temporary existence- in a day it could be snatched up by a frog, and then the lovely words would die with it. 

what is it like to fly? she wondered aloud, not sure if the insect would answer and yet curious. if mira could fly she had to imagine it would make life easier, and yet alas she would never know the feeling. the closest thing was standing at the tip of the highest mountain peak and gazing out into the wind.

to fly? to fly! an incredible question, one that tends to never be asked as many decide that a talking butterfly is more interesting than a flying butterfly -- but perhaps they are right for having such interests.

something stirs in this storm cloud below, but consider Pancakes to be a reincarnation of a terrible spinoff for Sherlock. 

"you fall from the sky with several flowers, 
words spill from your mouth in waves,"
(you come to see many things when legs don't ground you
and perhaps in a form that lacks grace, you do fall a few times while learning)

she never learned to cuss correctly, for she only learned the words. in fact, Pancakes lacks such an understanding of timing and meaning that she will say some terrible words without realizing her use is completely off. imagine, a little butterfly saying the most heinous of things simply... because she can and can't think of proper use!

"you occur in grassy moonlight: 
and you are a lily, an aster, white trillium
or viburnum."
(perhaps she chooses to not be a rose. then there may be a beauty elsewhere.)
all the butterflies flock to these things, and perhaps it is a noble part of their own existence. the search for their own beauty, ignited by hidden sunlight and threatened by their own lack of awareness.

mira had a different way of speaking than this poetic insect, and struggled to nail down whether it understood her at all, whether it was answering. but it spoke of falling from the sky, with imagery of different flowers. mira tried to imagine being as light as a petal, drifting from its high place of origin to break away and flutter to the earth. the lovely thing about being a butterfly must be not only that ability to fall gently, but to rise again even after. mira supposed she was like that, in a way, then. her mother's death had broken her at the time, and though her fall was not as delicate and painless as a landing butterfly, she thought that the climb would be a graceful one. her low point was come and gone- it was time for her to begin soaring once again. not by paper-thin wings, but by an internal strength that urged her to continue for her glory in spite of the hurdles in her way. 

despite these ideas, the dark little lady often found difficulty in putting things to words. how nice, she grunted in that rasp of hers, though the sentiment was genuine. thoughts of their differences made her wonder if this creature resented its vulnerability in this world... whether it feared that any beast who could catch it under their paw could crush it in an instant. yet mira had no desire to harm it; perhaps this was how it remained free of harm; killing it could not benefit any warrior at all, it caused no inconvenience to anyone by its mere existence. even though ending it could be as easy as she desired, there would be no purpose in it. 

another question crossed her mind, and with no canine around she was free to be curious in a way she wouldn't show others. do butterflies also have packs with a leader? maybe it wouldn't even know what a pack was, she wasn't certain- but there was something about imagining the ostrega family as tiny insects that made her amused and delighted, though it didn't show on her face.

HI I DID NOT FORGET ABOUT THIS THREAD I PROMISE <333

what did butterflies have to fear? 

perhaps rainy days where the water droplets risk puncturing her wings? perhaps the cold nights where frost bites at her nose? perhaps the juvenile birds who have yet to learn that monarch butterflies are poisonous? if pancakes thought enough times, she could possibly have a reasonable list of things to be afraid of.

but to live short is to live without fear, but not without conscience.

"no no! we talk for hours, exchange our lives."
(a butterfly reunion is not for the faint of heart, as all that could be heard is a mess of stories and songs)

"spend some time away, you're born again."
(perhaps only in their lonesome do butterflies gain their song and poetry.)

pancakes is not one to sound smart during most conversations, but she hoped that mira knew that she was indeed listening and understanding what all she was asking. but it would be the curse of butterfly tongue that keeps her from speaking straight.