Sun Mote Copse all mimsy were the borogoves

Weejay hunkered down, hair on end. A glance in Sugar Glider’s direction and she saw trepidation reflected back at her in those oilspill eyes; it awoke a sense of sisterly protectiveness in the girl. She rose slowly, ears strained — but other than rustling, no further noise came. 

Weejay striaghtened out her posture and gave a dismissive flick of her tail. That was it — the intruder was gone — a chorus of crickets rose in the still summer air, and all normalcy seemed resumed. 

Shedding her sense ends of wariness Weejay turned back and inspected her flowers. A stalk of goldenrod had been bent back. Weejay corrected it with a thin-lined forming of her lip. Hearing Sugar swat at something behind her Weejay turned back around, following her gaze skyward. She was obviously grabbing for stars — it seemed like a fun game to Weejay, who wanted to join in despite how nonsensical it was. Those are stars. Weejay informed with a lilting smile - then she jumped up and snapped at a distantly twinkling star, unsuccessful in netting it, of course.