Not as strong as us

Never missing an.opportunity to practice, Asla padded forward silently on her soft, kitten paws. When Mort dropped the bird, she gave it an exploratory sniff. Yep... it was dead. It was clear by his reaction that Mort didn't know what that meant. She had just learned it too, and so she wasn't surprised, nor did she look down on him for it.

Mort asked her if she could fix it and Aslatiel frowned. "You can't fix dead. Papa told me about it when I killed one of the white birds. A chicken, she corrected herself." Tears filled his blue eyes and the tiny girl instantly moved forward to comfort him. Though significantly smaller, she took him in her arms and have him a squeeze. "Papa said that 'killing' is taking somethings life away. Once it's gone, it can't come back." She tried to explain. "It's not bad. Maybe your bird was hurt like my chicken was. Papa said I did a good thing. He was proud." The tiny fae kissed her brothers face, not knowing what else to do. "Don't be sad, Mort."