certainly, yes, she hears the child speak!
and a very fair question at that.
but alas, he'd learn the terrible lesson,
of realizing that butterflies were terrible at answering questions,
for answers were hardly ever straight; they hardly made sense!

but that was the intended purpose of a butterfly, to repeat what they hear, what they see
and in rare moments of a greater conscience, perhaps to say what truly lays on their mind.

and this?
was in fact not one of those moments with clairty.
"wold?" she repeats the word,
she once heard an editorial mention something of it, art, perhaps?

"It is an enormous, ancient forest that has not yet been fully explored," she settles on,
fluttering away from the feather, towards where she can see his face,
"What may lie beyond the forest, no one knows."

the way it should be, perhaps.
in fact, the answer was far better than pancakes could have expected, could have hoped!

"Wake, butterfly— it’s late, we’ve miles to go together."

as if to awaken his own feathers to unfurl, to fly with her!
to see the riches of these lands and more!
if only she knew how to attach such wings to creatures like him.
perhaps his heart would be light enough to take him there beside her.

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