Wheeling Gull Isle Man Machine Poem

To Moorhen, it was just weather, and she had come to associate it with summer the same as thunderstorms and hot, dry sun. Fire was not something she was familiar with, and even if someone tried to explain the concept to her, she would likely fail to comprehend. Only experience would teach her what it was.

Hopefully, things wouldn't come to that.

"Come," she instructed, nudging Thresher back toward the den. "We can explore water cave," she suggested, "where the air is wet." The smell of ash would still cling to them, but at least it would help to soothe their sore lungs.