Swiftcurrent Creek Let me go, I wanna die in the disco

If she had....Feathers?

It was an insane idea. Reverie had a fanciful imagination, which she quickly apologized for. The wolves in these parts...They were so eager to please, and so easily bruised. She, a boulder, had nothing but rounded edges, but even still the blunt edge if her personality seemed to be too heavy for most. But on that boulder, moss grew. And with it, small facets of light which had grown through her. 

"Not enough ducks in this world, to give me enough feathers to float." It was as far as Moss was going to go into Reverie's odd suggestion. Entertaining the idea at all was ridiculous, and she didn't care for it, but clearly, Reverie liked her more when she eased up a bit with her stone-cold logic. 

Still...That didn't mean she was going to loosen up that much. When prompted with the word fun, the blood drained from her cheeks. She drew in a long inhale, and cast her gaze out beyond the creek. 

"I am not fun."