Broken Antler Fen I'm trying so hard not to get caught up now

If Jasmine was a little older and a little wiser and little more hearing of the world, she might've had some smiles or scoffs or rebuttals to give. Yet the spitfire was but an ember now, hardly a match that had been struck against the box. Her flame tried to dance but founded herself trapped in her limitations.

She offered no real response to any of the names her mother spoke, but the tremors of her body felt nice. So much so that when mother stopped talking, and the little girl realized the rumblings were not coming back, she huffed and kneaded a rhythm of paws against her belly. Not searching for milk, but searching for that trembling sensation that would make her body shake.