Sun Mote Copse my talismans and charms

the days grow warmer, indicative that spring is on a speeding train towards summer and while jr had been young, more interested in discovering everything she could last summer, she remembers fondly the warmth of the mornings and evenings; the season of the bountiful.

she helps where she can: tending borders and helping to fill food caches.

a plump groundhog hangs limp betwixt her jaws: a catch successful courtesy of ghost who lazily glides along with the wind from above.

he looks bigger, she noticed the other day. a little more fuller in his chest, with longer wing feathers. perhaps it is just her imagination, or because her gaze never lingers on him long because she is used to seeing him. she is not sure how old he was when she 'rescued' him, or what was indicative of knowing a falcon's age.

a soft snort leaves her as she tucks the groundhog away in a food cache, the scent of freshly upturned soil strong even as she re-covers the cache, patting down the earth so as to not attract unwitting thieves.

despite her acknowledgement that she needed to socialize more, she has spectacularly managed to isolate herself since she last spoke with meerkat. making friends is not her forte, and whether that was a product of her disabilities or her prickly nature in general, jr couldn't really say.