What did the fish say when he hit a wall?

Lyra moved quietly through the tall grass of the Veronica Plains, the humid air sticking to her fur as the summer heat bore down. Her lanky frame shifted awkwardly, her growing body still unfamiliar, but her steps were precise. She had learned to be cautious, her ears twitching as she navigated the terrain. Especially in this specific area. A quick shudder traveled down her pelt as she recalled the terrifying encounter with an angry pronghorn. The thick shrubs and stalks of wheat grass offered her a familiar cover, though today, her purpose wasn't to hunt.

Her mind churned as she neared the familiar figure of her mother, Modesty, hard at work. The steady clink of stones being set back into place filled the air, and for a moment, Lyra paused to watch. There was something calming about Modesty’s methodical movements, the way she worked with a quiet diligence that mirrored Lyra's own desire for order. Lyra lingered at the edge of her mother's task, unsure whether to approach or simply observe, as was her nature.

But the pull to be close to her mother, especially now, was too strong. She stepped forward, silently. When she was near enough, she allowed herself to speak, her voice steady and calm, just above a whisper.

“Why are you building it again?”

It wasn’t a challenge, but a genuine question. More of a weak reason to hear her mother speak. To have company and the sense of family present. She always sought to understand the reason behind things, even something as simple as stone walls.

"SPEECH"