Alpine Lake I don't wanna row, row, row the boat

mira had a different way of speaking than this poetic insect, and struggled to nail down whether it understood her at all, whether it was answering. but it spoke of falling from the sky, with imagery of different flowers. mira tried to imagine being as light as a petal, drifting from its high place of origin to break away and flutter to the earth. the lovely thing about being a butterfly must be not only that ability to fall gently, but to rise again even after. mira supposed she was like that, in a way, then. her mother's death had broken her at the time, and though her fall was not as delicate and painless as a landing butterfly, she thought that the climb would be a graceful one. her low point was come and gone- it was time for her to begin soaring once again. not by paper-thin wings, but by an internal strength that urged her to continue for her glory in spite of the hurdles in her way. 

despite these ideas, the dark little lady often found difficulty in putting things to words. how nice, she grunted in that rasp of hers, though the sentiment was genuine. thoughts of their differences made her wonder if this creature resented its vulnerability in this world... whether it feared that any beast who could catch it under their paw could crush it in an instant. yet mira had no desire to harm it; perhaps this was how it remained free of harm; killing it could not benefit any warrior at all, it caused no inconvenience to anyone by its mere existence. even though ending it could be as easy as she desired, there would be no purpose in it. 

another question crossed her mind, and with no canine around she was free to be curious in a way she wouldn't show others. do butterflies also have packs with a leader? maybe it wouldn't even know what a pack was, she wasn't certain- but there was something about imagining the ostrega family as tiny insects that made her amused and delighted, though it didn't show on her face.