Hideaway Strath ragwort,

She's too young to take notice of how uncomfortable she makes the other child, or perhaps it had more to do with the Nahuatl girl herself. She definitely lacked social skills, though whether this was due to the fact that she preferred to be alone by circumstance or was owed to an inevitable personality trait was uncertain. The gilded halfling remains blissfully unaware of the anxiety she causes, her own moon-and-sun orbs crossing in her efforts to keep her eyes on the bug that has monopolized her focus. 

It scurries up the bridge of her nose, zigzagging crookedly along the nearly even line that divides both halves of her thin features -- upwards towards her forehead before it stops to lift its wings to the skies and is swept away by a playful breeze dancing through the lavender and purple blooms. Momotzli bursts into a fit of laughter, falling back on her misted haunches the way a small child might roll back and clutch their stomach in uproarious giggling. 

"Bug," she chortles, as if it's the funniest thing in the whole world.