The Sentinels she was made of flowers and satin and velveteen dreams

you're always welcome in my threads!

ah! but it mattered not how well-practiced she was! deirdre had not the skill of a bird, and watched as she tried to place the thing upon herself it all fall asunder. the owl had said it would be something she might not be able to do, and that he had never seen a wolf do such a thing, but she so admired the craft of birds and wished to create as they had! belatedly, deirdre heard the voice of aria who must have seen the creation before she herself had ruined it. the cub was comfortable enough with aria, now, to not even wish of fleeing. the thick scent of donnelaith upon the pale beta at last was received by deirdre in a way that meant understanding: aria was family, too.

she placed her slender muzzle atop her paws. wolves cannot make them, but birds can. i keep trying, but... teeth were for biting through, not for tying ends of things together. she sighed. its alright, her emerald eyes drifted to the mess and back to aria again. ...you want to look at the garden you, me, an' eilidh made? she suggested, tilting her head. it would distract her from her internal disappointment, surely, and she could learn more.