We remain hidden in the woods, out of sight of all.
There are beings around us, but we pay them no mind.
We watch the small ones first.
They run about screaming, chasing each other with wild abandon.
They pay attention to nothing.
Not even themselves.
Curious creatures.
But not all small ones behave so.
We observe one closely.
She plucks a multi‑colored, sweet‑smelling thing from the ground
and presents it to a larger being.
The larger one smiles and accepts the offering.
Noises pass between them.
A noise repeats from each of them.
Ah… something to latch onto.
We listen.
We hear the noise again… here… there…
We see the embraces that follow it,
the changes in their faces,
the quickening of their life force.
We know this feeling.
We feel this with Mother.
Warmth.
Connection.
Belonging.
Tis .......... *LOVE*.
Does this noise from them mean the same?
We search more.
We match the noises they make
to words we have spoken to Mother
so many, many times before.
Their language builds within us.
Slowly.
Painfully.
It is sometimes sharp and guttural,
other times pleasant and soothing.
At first we catch only fragments,
not enough to learn.
But it grows.
We grow.
Still… we need a teacher.
And that smell…
How can one concentrate at all
with the glorious scent oozing from this place
of beings and dead things?
It curls around us,
warm and inviting,
pulling at our senses.
We are Stormfire.
We watch.
We listen.
We learn.
Mother will be proud of her child.