Hushed Willows the morning will come soon.

—What is it? came the voice of one of her adoptive siblings; had she known of the term "step-sister" then she would've applied it, but for now Ibis only knew Eleuthera as the pretty girl that sleeps all day. Her voice wasn't one she often heard and so the presence of it spooked her more than the words, because the girl thought she had been alone. When the sounds came she startled like a cat — tail flipping up and puffing, head raising and head pivoting to face the oncoming body. Her tail went up and down in a quick arc, and the rest of her puffed when it did. Ibis did not like to be surprised (she was reminded vaguely of a particular incident that has left an indellible mark upon her psyche) and lashed out in order to show how irritated she felt. Her front teeth clipped the air as soon as the fright went through her; she narrowed her pale blue eyes at Eleuthera accusingly and with a huff, turned back to her prize.

She wasn't going to answer. Yeah, it was rude. If Seabreeze was around she would have likely called her out on it or tried to teach her some manners, but to Ibis the only people worthy of her good behavior were her mother and her real brother. And after being spooked by the other girl, Ibis was certainly not going to be nice to her. It wasn't even that she disliked Eleuthera — the girl was only a little bit older than her (to the point where it probably didn't count for anything) — but Ibis was immensely jealous of the curious tone of the girl's fur. It was a beautifully soft tone of something (not quite brown, not quite anything else) which reminded her of the blush-pink of snowberries out of season. 

When compared to Ibis, Eleuthera would always be seen as the unique and beautiful creature while she, at least in her own mind, was a boring mix of colors. Ibis was so envious that she would take to avoiding the girl and all mention of her, but then upon discovering her somewhere in the territory, sit and spy upon her, and sometimes when nobody was looking she would play make-believe — everyone would fawn over her, beautiful princess Eleuthera.

But, enough about that. Ibis' many layers of emotion countered any sense of propriety trained in to her by her mother. She shifted her weight a little bit to get comfortable and in the process she hid what she'd unearthed from the invasive girl. The skull sat close to Ibis' narrow chest while her forelimbs created a vee around it. 

Not yours, Ellie. Ibis informed her, sharper than a switch of willow. The little girl did not know what she'd found either, but she'd found it — that's the point. Finders-keepers-losers-suck, etcetera. The skull was incredibly small, owed to the fact that at the time of the child's emergence to the world, the mother had been under-weight and borne it early; but neither one of the older kids would know that. To them it might resemble a rabbit's head, or something slightly bigger — but of all the things it could be, Ibis didn't think it was anything that morbid (or that important).

But it was her's, and she'd keep it to herself for as long as possible.