Bearclaw Valley moreau's golem

perhaps as quickly as she had backed away, the firebird scrambled down from the low rise and charged with a gasp toward where the rock had fallen. "oh ... oh my god!" the little scout moaned in self-loathing. "oh my god," mona repeated again, though this time with a bit more of what the kids called pizzazz.
swamp-gaze widening, mona stood on three legs and one crooked at her wrist, trembling with chagrin and panting with exertion. "i am ... so sorry ... so so sorry!" the young mayfair choked between drawing swathes of air, somehow winded not by her short and swift journey, but from the nerves that now waved wildly with uncapped ends somewhere deep inside her brain.
"i'm sorry! i didn't know anyone was down here. i wouldn't have ever ... ever just ... kicked something! how rude! did it hit you?" mona's sentence went tripping end over end into an abrupt silence, straightening her stance as she realized how immaturely she had been babbling, and how much of her mother's instilled poise had simply ceased to exist in this moment.
for mona mayfair was struck now by the look of the man, whom she firmly believed had been near brained by her errant projectile. her own failure did not keep her from noting the hue of his eyes, nor the way he seemed to glow, fine-formed, beneath his sable overcoat. dragging her gaze away at last, mona turned her full and undivided attention to the earth between them, wondering how she could continue to surprise herself with her own ineptitude.