Hushed Willows Does it mean anything to you?

At the nameless Moor.

So, this was home.

She didn't know for how long, since they apparently kept on moving. Ibis decided upon setting foot in this new place, she wouldn't get attached. It would just hurt more when they left again.

As she moseyed along, head downcast and body slumped with an early onset of prepubescent woe, she found that the ground turned red. More than red, really. A hearty crimson took hold of the earth where the flowers began, and soon she was surrounded by blossom after blossom; any other time, Ibis would've been awed by the beauty.

Right now, she was thinking about daddy. But she didn't want to. With a huff, Ibis kicked at a bushel of flowers and watched them split in to a gush of petals; she felt a sharpness catch against the palm of her paw and winced backwards with a squeak, and stared down at the puddle of ruined roses, as if they'd bitten her. Or made her daddy stop loving her. Either way, she was unhappy.