Sawtooth Spire i’m looking down the barrel of a string-bean

her scream was swiftly attended to by the fatigued explanation of her father. phaedra looked up at mahler, goggle-eyed, then turned her gaze back toward the source of her (and her father's mislain) grave concern. "o." she whispered quietly, slinging an ear towards him to dissect all the relevance imparted to her jurisdiction of interest and doing away with the lees of his tired angst as to her mother's return.
phaedra did not budge from her fairy circle, despite his urging. she had not passed the cloudberries—mother was of little importance, she had done no wrong. papa was always joyful in her presence, and she, presently so taken up with the frog and the storied refrain for his bride, did not notice the edginess in her father's demeanor. 
the new addition made her head swim with overwrought feelings and mean, troubling urges. at his mention she hid a black look.
she cherished time outside the den for this reason and for the first time, outright ignored her father when he posed his mumbly question regarding her brother. how was she to know? but she did not listen either way.
instead, she pattered her feet with restrained impulse to jump at this frog, and when it bwaaaaach'd again, phaedra screeched loudly and fell over with giggles.