the usefulness of this uselessness

Lyra was always in the back, for whatever reason. Whether that reason was herding her siblings or just letting others take the lead. She didn't mind going where the crowds went. Today, thankfully, was not another fighting lesson. Her little body was quite sore. Trailing close behind Pythia, she arrived just in time to see Korona nearly inhale a feather.

It wasn't that comical, but Korona's look was funny enough to make Lyra burst out laughing. It was only funny because Kor was okay in the end. The small pup would walk beside Pyth and moved to sit down until she heard a rustle. Her eyes would follow the noise and see Gilda messing with... something. Not knowing what it was only made her want to know even more. Quickly, she would bound over and shove her nose in the way, sniffing and trying to understand. When she couldn't figure it out, she would look at Gilda's face and into her eyes, expecting some explanation.

She wouldn't wait for one. Instead, she would clumsily sprint over to Modesty. There were so many things! A half-started basket (boring), some seashells, some... clay? Her head would tilt with curiosity, even some branches and cords. Lyra would giggle, moving her right paw over everything. Feeling. So many different things. She loved sensory play and exploring different textures. A paw much too big for her body would smack the small items around one more time before she started to grab what she wanted. An awful lot of seashells, some cord, a small branch, and a feather.

How could she make all these fun things into one big fun thing? After a few trips, Lyra settled away from everybody else. She did not want to be bothered while she focused. Maybe I can make a toy for Pythia! She recalled an older wolf mentioning the alabaster pup's lack of sight and how losing one sense only enhances others. Maybe she would enjoy the soft-feely things? Maybe she would like the gentle chime of the seashells against each other as much as Lyra did.

And so she had a purpose. First, she would try her hardest to bore holes into the flimsy branch. Unfortunately, her milk teeth were not gone yet, so this was going to be the hardest part. Or so she thought. Either way, she was having a lot of fun, her small tail thumping hard against the soft moor.

"Speech!"