Moonspear Sweet child o' mine

"Wow! And probably your great-grandfather took after his uncle, cousin or other great-great-someone. It is odd to think that we are not very original, but assembled from jumbled up pieces of our ancestors," Wraen mused, remembering her mother telling about herself being very similar to her uncle Osprey Sr. and of Wraen having inherited her grandmother's March Owl's green eyes. Where they had come from, however, Osprey could not tell. 

"Yeah, but they don't stay little potatoes forever. Soon they grow teeth, the next moment you know it - your own mum kicks you out of the den and then comes all the gangly-limbs and lack of coordination and in general - too much body to be aware of and take care of-time," she chuckled, recalling her own clumsy days during childhood. Those had been fun. And bruise-full, if that kind of word really existed. 

"Though I am a lot graceful now than I was before," she added, smiling though not to the full extent. The memory of tripping and rolling down the slope of the mountain the other day was still very vivid. And it had not been a dangerous or very trick slope.