Blackfeather Woods going off my head, down to somewhere

in silent awe, astara followed the graceful arc of the flitting butterfly. her mother's pain, which might have been detectable had she spared her dam a glance, went unnoticed -- all that consumed the girl's interest was that strangely fluttering, brightly garbed thing.

root still in her mouth, astara moved dumbly towards it as if in a trance: she stepped behind her sister and dropped the root abruptly, lunging upwards with a snap of her milkwhite teeth to (unsuccessfully) capture the aerial insect.