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.