Blacktail Deer Plateau I killed Mufasa

"Fuck you," Junior swore. Pura frowned at her. Swearing tasted ugly somehow, like chewing on a sea urchin. Before he could tell her as much, she confused him further by clarifying. "Fuck you also?" the befuddled teen returned, searching for a way to connect. He had established, in the earlier half of his childhood, that mimicry was chief among his arsenal of tools to navigate the social landscape.

Junior ebbed in and out of her feverish states, making plenty of sense one second and losing it all moments later. Pura watched her eyes open and shut, sometimes out of sync. They weren't the same colour. Peregrine's eyes were a similar blue-green as one of them, but the indigo was a mystery - as far as Pura could remember, Hawkeye's eyes had been a bright, poisonous green. "Your face is a nice face," he soothed her when she started channeling the final scenes of the Titanic, carefully sandwiching her hot little paw.