fite me

Morgawr was a year old now. So that was cool. She wasn't a kid anymore and she hadn't decided whether or not that mattered to her. Probably it did. She was feeling less attached to the old characters that used to bounce around in her brain. She barely remembered most of their names. She didn't really want to remember them. They were relics of a child's reckless, unpolished imagination. She was onto bigger, better things. More characters were beginning to take shape, unnamed and without even concrete species, appearance, or personalities. She'd let them stew for a while and maybe they'd eventually be something special. She sort of missed telling herself bedtime stories; her own thoughts weren't always as fun.

But she had her own life to live, as more than just the gaps in her characters' stories. Much as reality sometimes felt overwhelming or dull, she was beginning to grow curious. A blossoming interest in medicine -- and maybe poison? -- had begun to spread in her brain. But what else would she like to do? There was so much out there, and for once in her life, the things she wanted to do and be felt like they might outnumber what she didn't. She stood still in the forest, brain buzzing with golden possibilities.

Maybe fighting would be fun? She certainly thought it would be cool to be all big and tough and threatening. Besides, she knew there were plenty of wolves around that could fight well, so she'd have no lack of teachers. And maybe she could make some friends for once. Well. Maybe.

Speech