elk song had filled her ears, in the very distance
the willows left behind, a tireless search on beaten wings
but what answers does a butterfly need?

perhaps not many. perhaps she wouldn't know what to even ask.
but butterflies never answer questions, truly.
nor do they really answer them, either.

butter and syrup kiss the breeze of noon that brings her to the very edges,
the farm sight is something familiar,
and yet something very odd.
odd like her, almost. but more unsettling.
where were the two leggeds? they would have been up by now to feed,
but so far, pancakes has only seen wild creatures.

something feels longing, if a butterfly could feel such a thing.
perhaps she might find more of her kind out here,
perhaps they'd make their choir.

"never let it be said that I’d rather be
firing arrows at heart-shaped dartboards
or in a cave composing polyglot puns.
I crave, I long for transforming love"

the transforming love of someone she might know,
or someone who would wish to know her too,
one day, one breath, one song, one wing.

---

daed for about 5/6 for timing purposes of butterfly travel, located at the very neck of ambrosia range near the elk's crown!
poem: On Leaving the Bachelorette Brunch By Rachel Wetzsteon

The noonday sun filtered through the swaying trees, and Nen'tah grew ever bolder as he ventured deep into the farthest reaches of their territory. He felt safe in these woods, safe beneath the watchful eye of Iglux and the bustle of the pack as they wove busily through the underbrush performing duties he did not yet understand. But one day! One day he would follow them on strong, confident legs and earn his place as a worthy son of Cen.

That was not today, however.

Since the Great Awakening (or whatever you wanted to call it with the sun's return and spring suddenly bursting into full bloom around them), Nen'tah had noticed the very peculiar absence of his own shadow. Perhaps it would be an advantage one day as a hunter of Saatsine, but for now, it was a point of curiosity. He padded quietly through the dense forest with nose turned down, staring at the ground where he ought to be; but as he turned this way and that, there was still no evidence of his shadow to be found.

Maybe it was the dappled light from the trees that was interfering with it. He should try a field!

Now more determined than ever, Nen'tah trotted briskly toward the edges of the Elk's Crown and a large clearing he could spy just beyond some dense underbrush. Surely now he'd be able to find his shadow again beneath the full strength of the sun!

Nen'tah leapt out of the woods -

- And still, the sun did not take any heed of his presence. He stared, puzzled, down at the brightly-lit grass beneath and wondered with a small rise of panic if this meant he was simply invisible.

The sound of song caught his attention nearby. Maybe he ought to test this theory as well. Approaching the singer, he identified it as a little Monarch butterfly; while normally he might see it as prey and an opportunity to hone his reflexes, today he needed its assistance for an experiment.

Nen'tah said nothing as he walked toward the fluttering creature. If she didn't acknowledge him... then how would he ever explain this predicament to Mother?

Dreadfully, he waited.

a mirage, a dream, a boy!


and closer, closer, to eclipse the sun!
something bright and red upon him,
to which pancakes greedily wonders if it is a flower,
and more so, if he would let her taste the delicacy!

but perhaps it was due to poor vision,
or perhaps the excitement to finally see a face that does in fact see her too.

"Welcome child of the Spring!"
surely that would be a warm welcome to invite him to speak.

"In your garbs of green and gold," -- though as she flutters closer, that doesn't seem to hold true.
"Lifting up your sun-crowned head on the verdant plain and wold."

the feather, the ruby, the vermillion stain! a king, a child, a ruler of sorts!
something blessed, something proper!

"As a bright and joyous troop."

a butterfly's warm greeting, buttery breezes felt from tiny marmalade wings.

---

poem: dandelions by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

The boy let out a sigh of relief. He wasn't invisible after all; for whatever reason, he was just... missing his shadow. At least this wouldn't be as much of a crisis for the Saatsine, though Nen'tah distantly wondered if such a power might have otherwise made him the most successful hunter of their line.

No matter.

The butterfly spoke in lilting song and curious rhymes, and although he did not yet understand the gift of poetry, the boy liked the way it sounded.

(He had never heard a butterfly speak, but he supposed if they did, all of them should sound like this one.)

Nen'tah smiled. He turned to the side and presented his red feather to the little creature, a gesture meant to invite her in if she wished to closer inspect the treasured possession. He was quite protective of it, but he didn't think a butterfly could cause much harm.

it was true,
a butterfly could do little damage,
at least, physically speaking.
but pancakes could absolutely read someone for filth, if asked.

but instead she sees this child smile at her,
as if she was worth smiling at with such gentleness.

and soon, the flash of red, the bright flame upon his dark furs!
a bullet in the night, and it delighted her all the same!

so she flutters closer, closer,
even if afraid he could bite her, or worse.
for life was worth living, even when it could be cut short so quickly.
that was what held its meaning, its worth-- all within fragility.

"Dewdrops and the morning sun," despite it already being noon

"Weave your garments fair and bright, and I welcome you today"
as she welcomed that feather, hovering, wings soft
and heard perhaps in childlike wonder.

"As the child of the light.
Child of the earth and sun."

surely, rock and flame; colliding like the lava
she's heard from the other butterflies, in lands far away,
as she aims for a landing zone, not on that precious feather,
but rather near his own dark crown, if he'd grace her with such pleasantries

curious to know of the taste of his little life so far,
the wonders he has seen and known.
"you're everything," she finally whispers to him

Every natural instinct raged against his stillness as the butterfly flitted ever closer. Already he felt urged to hunt, to chase and bite and conquer prey, even this small and insignificant creature - but Nen'tah remained utterly motionless in spite of his racing heart. Somehow this moment seemed important. He did not yet know why, but the defiant act of resistance toward his base nature had already begun to temper him.

She was so delicate, so careful. The little butterfly alighted upon his coveted feather, and he employed every atom of his being in the desperate act of remaining still.

How lovely her words! One in particular held more intrigue than the rest. Although the Saatsine primarily spoke Lanzadoii, Nen'tah was also being educated in the understanding of Common - so while he could infer most of her meaning, setting him aglow, there was just one sound that he'd definitely never heard before.

From who else might he ever learn it? He couldn't let this opportunity slip away.

He took a quick, bracing breath, and then -

... What's a wold?

His voice was soft, almost inaudible, but she would catch it. Were all butterflies so well-traveled and versed in exotic speech? Would that he could fly, too! Nen'tah glanced down at the place where his shadow ought to have been and wondered what other powers he might one day manifest.