Lost Creek Hollow once i took your medication to know what it's like

she always used to tell me there were faces in the clouds, and that the stars write messages to us, it seemed so ridiculous in hindsight, didn't it? a hushed, dry laugh crawls from the fang's chest. the hunter is, like, part of some bigger shape, but i don't remember what she called it. there's all kinds of little shapes in the big shapes.
gazing upon them now made her feel inescapably small; miniscule beneath such a vast array of other worlds. wren wonders if her mother can still see the stars from wherever she rests in eternity. what did riverclan teach you about 'em?