Wapun Meadow Honey, You're Familiar like my Mirror Years Ago

I do not think hummingbirds truly ever rest, Vale whispered to Moss, eyes bright at their appreciation of the fast, little birds. She of course knew that they had to stop and lay eggs at some point, they were birds after all. They had to have come from eggs at some point. How do you think they see the world? Do you think it's a blur, like their wings?

An air of nostalgia overcomes the caretaker again, Vale smiles in response. I think even as you get older the world works in funny ways. Just not how you think it does when you are small.

I had a brother in my litter, Vale murmured, revealing a part of her own history. I remember how he used to slander butterflies. Adamant that they were ugly and plain. Her eyes brightened, creased at the corners as her lips curved. I still remember his face when one landed on his nose. How he froze in place, eyes widened in awe. Not an ounce of disdain to be seen.