Wheeling Gull Isle your bones, your eager blood

 whatever is causing the cold pays no mind to reed's frustrations. this is a travesty of the highest order: the would-be princess has demands that must be met. not because she must be catered to (although this is also true) but because, by god, she is the one who is making the rules as far as she is concerned.

 the blur of her brother darting past distracts her from her haughty discomfort. he's jumping on some of that funny outside stuff and making growling noises. what is he doing? she paddles over to him, pudgy form held proudly (or as imagined-proudly as a teeny thing like she can be), curiousity temporarily soothing her voice. mysterious thing, this grass he attacks, though she does not feel the need to join in his carnage, instead making her first tentative attempts at communication with him, a series of demanding murbled-yips.