Blackfeather Woods going off my head, down to somewhere

For some time teeth on each end of the root grabbed hold firmly. The ghost child was set on getting claim over the root for some good time, until she saw something. A butterfly, dancing past them. Her attention did not waver; it was simply gone. She let go of the root abruptly and started to prance towards the butterfly, completely unaware that her actions may influence the dark one in any way.