Whitefish River I'm not a flower

The Count had slipped away from her duties if only for a moment to idle near the river. Since the heavy rains around a month ago, it seemed that the water level was finally balancing out to what it used to be. Finding a slower part of the current, Ira waded into the low levels testing the depth before dipping her head for a quick drink.

The low rush of water managed to cover the light footsteps that seemed to trail behind her as a small voice called out, one she instantly recognized and turn to greet. Yes, dear? What is it? She wasn't overly surprised at the request. Both girls had been venturing further on their own with growing minds and curiosity. 

What does Primrose mean?

Stepping back to shore, Ira blinked once not really expecting the question to involve her name. You want to know the origin of your name? She chuckled before taking a seat, her head tilting as she recalled the decision, First rose. That's what you are to me. Ira grinned as she leaned down to nose her daughter. My firstborn and my first beauty. Except she wasn't, but as far as the Count's memories went the statement was accurate.