Sun Mote Copse I'm not about to fight until the last of me dies

Wildfire pulled her close, and Weejay did not fight it: she embraced it the way one hungered for life would embrace physical affection, her little arms wrapped and grabbing whatever she could, to hold tight and never let go. Sniffling into Wildfire's fiery fur, Weejay only half-listened. "I wanna go with you," She cried, her face damp against the warmth of her mother's coat. "I go," Weejay concluded resolutely, a clumsy and thick paw brought across her face to wipe her tears away.

It was wise that Wildfire attempted to change the subject, for the girl was on the verge of hysterics even though she did not know it. Glumly, she clutched her mommy's arms hard. "Flowers." She sniffed, her watery gaze lifted to view her dam's face. She had no aspirations to be anything yet, she was too young -- but she knew she loved and cared for flowers immensely.. almost as much as she cared and loved for her mommy.

Weejay didn't want to go anywhere, and so shook her head when Wildfire offered to play. She would not let go - if she never let go, then her mommy couldn't go anywhere, right? "Story." The usually garrulous girl was monosyllabic in the present, her voice tinged with tired sorrow.