Mari was a Faerydae; she had been taking herself flying. She often did it near her pups, and didn’t go for long. She landed tonight, shaking out her wings; oh Marigold, poor Marigold, doomed girl. If only she knew the fate that awaited her, that she would only fly for a short time.
She heard a single twig snap. Mari spun, startling. “Who’s there?” She stepped backward, trying to see through the mess of foliage and shadow. She sighed when nothing else happened-maybe it was a branch snapping from the weight of snow. Ice and snow had been melting; spring was slowly arriving, beat back every so often by fierce winter, and thin, weak branches would break.
She began the walk back to her children. Her wings fluttered, and she folded them. The dead grasses and remaining snow crunched beneath her paws, and she breathed in a sigh of fresh air that gusted her way.

“You haven’t been paying attention.”