Sun Mote Copse all mimsy were the borogoves

After her naturally unsuccessful attempt to grab at the stars, Weejay settled for something a bit closer to home: turning back to tending her garden. She had already nipped back a frail stalk of dying goldenrod when Sugar Glider gasped, her gaze bent to the celestial realm above.

Weejay's eyes were slow to track Sugar Glider's direction, and when she peered up into that endless navy, she saw nothing but obscure twinklings and the pale shimmering of the moon. "Stars." Weejay corrected, but not sternly. Placing the stalk between her teeth, Weejay plucked the fading clutch of goldenrod from its siblings and inspected its roots curiously.