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The wedding was so big.

There were too many feet, too many voices, too many smells that tangled together until Lánxuě could not tell where one ended and another began. Her father was somewhere among the guests, and her mother, and all the others who seemed terribly tall when one was as small as she was. The little snowflower had spent much of the celebration tucked close to those she knew, content to watch with wide gold eyes while the world moved around her. Every so often someone laughed too loudly and her ears would fold against her head. Then they would rise again. Slowly. Carefully. Curious despite herself.

It was the yellow thing that finally stole her attention.

Lánxuě's tiny head tipped upward as the butterfly bobbed through the air, its wings opening and closing like a flower that had somehow learned how to fly. Her mouth fell open. She had never seen such a thing. Or, perhaps, she had—but one month of life did not leave much room for remembering much of anything. Her gaze followed it until another small, but large body passed through her vision after it. A boy. Lánxuě blinked curiously before her attention shifted between the boy and his fluttering quarry.

Her paws carried her after them before she had entirely decided to go.

She was not quick. Even for a baby, Lánxuě was painfully small, her legs short and delicate beneath her, and every determined little step came with the faint sway of a child who had only recently discovered that paws were meant for more than crawling over siblings. Still, she followed. Step-step-wobble. Step-step. Her nose lowered once to inspect a fallen petal before she seemed to remember there was something far more important happening and hurried after him again, which amounted to a slightly faster, considerably less coordinated toddle.

When Hemlock drew close to the butterfly, Lánxuě stopped several little body-lengths behind him.

She sat.

Or tried to.

Her rump landed with an inelegant little plop, nearly carrying the rest of her backward with it before her forepaws splayed wide enough to save her dignity. Oblivious to what Hemlock intended for his prize, she stared at the butterfly with round-eyed wonder. Then at him. Then back to the butterfly.

F...fower?

The Common word came softly and imperfectly from her mouth, shaped with all the uncertainty of something newly learned. Her nose wrinkled.

Fly... fower?

A tiny tail gave one hopeful thump against the earth.

Clearly, Lánxuě had solved it.

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