The Sunspire a flower feels the rain and it weeps from its petals down to its roots

Nara took her place sitting upon the ground nearby, signaling her intentions to stay a while and chat. At this, Olive’s smile split into a grin and the tips of her ivories could be seen poking from behind her pale lips in her joy. Wasn’t it so nice to do this — to sit and have a conversation with friends, for no reason other than your path simply ran across them? To not have to talk with/about Dakarai, or his whore, or the past altogether; the fae could talk about the weather, if she wanted to. She could muse about how the stars danced at night and how the little babes also danced in her belly. Gone were the days of struggle, the days of frigid hunger, and here she was to celebrate it with a soon-to-be good friend. 

Sheepishly, Olive looked up at Nara from her feline-esque position on the earth. Olive hadn't thought her absence had been noticed. “I get a little dizzy, sometimes.” she admitted. This was a recent development, and Olive had always been known as a nimble and sure-footed creature. However, with a frame so lithe and willowed, any extra weight — and the nausea —  made her slightly less so. She didn’t want to fall off a mountainside, of course, or to over-exert herself in the process. That, and she just didn't feel like doing so. “The wind is sweeter, here.” Olive tipped her nose as a zephyr dawdled idly by, seemingly heavy and saturated with sunlight, but moving through the valley nonetheless. She relished how the lazy breeze parted her fur and how the sun warmed her skin. “Feel that?” she said, watching the motes play and settle in the dustlight before letting her mossy gaze slip closed. Olive held no qualms seeking a whelping den in such a lovely place, even if it was removed from the rest of the pack.“I'm looking for a... bigger home.” She said suggestively. No one could hurt her here — not from the outside, and certainly not from within.