There is a book. It's made of bark, dried leaves and some tanned animal skins. The front 'cover' has berry juice on the cover, seeming to write words out, in big and messy print, Do Not Tooch. If one is to disobey these words and open the front page he would find the words Wildfire's porprity. If the fool looks father they'd find a little girl's hopes and dreams written in a messy and hard to read script. Not that the fool would have a chance to read it, as Wildfire would black both his eyes the moment she found him.
This is Wildfire's journal, and it's one of the few things that can keep the hyper child down for long. It's often forgotten, but always well loved. Like many well loved things to a child it is also an acute embaressment. It is hidden in the small dug out cave Wildfire calls her room.
This is Wildfire's journal, and it's one of the few things that can keep the hyper child down for long. It's often forgotten, but always well loved. Like many well loved things to a child it is also an acute embaressment. It is hidden in the small dug out cave Wildfire calls her room.
