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

Weejay snuggled deep into her mother's embrace, ready for story-time. Her eyes were still damp, but they had lost their generous weeping. Her ears canted forward in interest, listening as Wildfire told a story uniquely suited to the girl. She groaned when the flower was revealed to have lost its color ('will it be okay, Mommy?' she had piqued), and then thrummed her little paws and grinned when the fairy came ('oooOOO!'). Once the story was over, the girl nudged her mother's cheek and spoke. "I wish I could find a fairy," She murmured softly, nosing through her mother's bright fur; she didn't want it to fade like the flower's did, and maybe if she found a fairy she could wish her mommy well at any cost.