The girl's concern, had you noticed, would only perplex you further. That anyone (save Mama) might worry for your safety is a rarely occurring thought. That you should worry for safety is laughable. Mortality remains a far-off concept. Pain is a fleeting enemy. So there's no fear in you, and no fear for the girl when she chooses a much more serene course of action in dipping a hoof toward the burning liquid. "I dunno." Unhelpful. She mentions Mama, though, and for an instant you're confused because Mama is your Mama, and no one else's! Except Vesper, though Vesper isn't here right now. Your features narrow into a skeptical frown. Maybe other people have other Mamas? You've definitely met other mares in the Basin.... Couldn't they call theirs something different, though? None are as good as Ki'irha. You might grumble about this privately, but — and hopefully this is a sign of maturity — you keep it inside for now. Other people continue to confuse you.

Quickly the conversation moves on, of course. The girl responds to your (frankly, rude) question about her wings, and though you remain edgy about meeting her gaze, you let your own dark eyes sweep her legs, her haunches, her back.... What is on her back? It's definitely not wings, but it's something. A number of somethings. Your frown furthers, ears tilting back in consternation. What the hell? She's talking, though.

Her parents don't have wings. Ah, then she wasn't trying to claim your mother — just being irritating. A twitch of your growing tail acknowledges this. Who are her parents, anyway? You've met no one quite like her, though now you think of it, there was a golden lady you glimpsed at the meeting. Just as your thoughts begin to fuzz, something moves behind the girl and though you probably ought to have noticed it before, you see now the shape of the young creature standing upon the rocks beside you. Instinctively, you leap back, your hooves landing with a sharp clatter and sliding a bit on the smooth surface, uncertain. Your wings bristle out, black feathers standing briefly on end as your pulse hammers. What the hell?

"...Whale..?" You accuse, your young brain struggling to remember the term. It's like Vesper's, you think. Suddenly your wings fold down, nakedness clouding your mind. Why don't you have one? Why does everyone else? Your narrow head cocks, dainty in its heft, as you inch a step nearer to examine the thing. And it's easy to look at, easier than the girl, because it's eyes don't hold the same weight. Even though Vesper's on the tip of your tongue, you don't mention her; even though your only thought is how my sister has one, you dare not point out your own shortcomings any further. You do notice, though, that Vesper had both whale and wings, so saying this one counts as the girl's is — stupid.

"How'd you get it?" you ask, trying and failing to feign nonchalance. That curious intensity lingers in your voice regardless of intent, promising probably a certain depth of tone when you get older. It isn't quite jealousy twisting the heft of your words now; it's more like awe. Still, you are a bit jealous. Maybe not of the whale itself but of the other kids having something you don't.