Or a candle dancing on the breeze

"March Owl?" Osprey furrowed her brow, trying to remember, which facts about her family Dante knew already and which she had not told him yet. It had happened such a long time ago that the only thing that came back to her was them running through the forest, howling and yowling as two mad people. Whatever had taken place before was hidden beneath a thick veil.

"She was big, tough and strong," she pictured her mother, her white coat, ruffled fur, her scars, her piercing green gaze and was disappointed to find out that the time that had passed since her mother's death had erased a lot of details. It was hard to even to see her dear face in detail. "You could say that she was a person, who marched through life with her fists ready for a fight. Not that she was a brawler, but you wouldn't see her beg or plead for anything. Her knees were too "stiff" to bow down to anyone," she paused.

"And a notorious potty mouth - but I think that one I told you already, didn't I?" Osprey tossed a question to Dante.