The little girl was not very old, in fact, a only a day or so. She is rather helpless without her mother, Bengal. The tiny black speck was covered head to toe in zebra stripes (Mari's only real contribution) but she was of fine bone and features, thank goodness for that at least. The small child was inquisitive of her surroundings already. There was an intelligence in those eyes, not the typical baby gurgling. Little Witchling does not make a peep really. If she were a snake, she would have already bit you by now.

Spindly legs move the girl from her mother's side to explore. Echo Trails is safe and warm, Bengal did not seem to mind much that her daughter took to exploring. Big eyes drink in everything, the small ears never ceasing movement. She looks to her inky black mother shining in the sun, there is an attachment of sorts but it feels hollow, fragile. Quiet eyes look to her own pelt, the zebra stripes reflecting in the warm sunlight. The child gives a slight smile before her interest becomes absorbed in a drunken butterfly floating on the soft, warm breeze.

'Cause I can't control myself

Witchling