Lake Bismuth swimming in a fish bowl

What had made her think of that? Wasn't it clear to the supposed artist?

The mud is all one texture, she huffed, tone flat, as if it were fact, knowable by even the newest of whelps. Ugly and flat. It needed something to make it— And where the word would go, she gave a "pop" of her lips, smacking them together before she parted them, her mouth an 'o' shape.

She, two, was the slightest bit aware of the fact that neither name had been shared. But she would revel in the anonymity, not revealing her title unless he would ask first. Her brother's scent was not upon him, so she wouldn't bother to ask. Honestly, part of her wished that one day she'd stumble upon his corpse, and she could trot back home and announce his death to their parents. Their reactions would be priceless!:

The shock, the anger on their faces would make her laugh and laugh and laugh.

Oh, but the heir's death would be such an awful shame. She pouted to herself for a moment, before blinking wide eyes back at the stranger, sitting up straight and adopting another thin smile. How did you not think of that? Hira prodded, looking him from ear to paw, eyes judgemental. Glowing. Scolding.