"...Triggered by the smoke in a remarkable feat of evolutionary adaptation, Cyrtanthus ventricosus, or the fire lily, is famous for blooming after wildfires..." Fire-Lilypaw- no, Fire-Lilylament didn't realize that er feathers had begun to molt. She didn't until she realized that a trail of bold fiery shed plumage followed her like the embers of a kindling flame. She kept her cloak steadfast on her back, hiding her wings and feathers beneath them like they were something to shame. Tucking herself away into her tree hollow like she was something to shame. Maybe just so no one would see those ridiculous pin feathers, maybe because she was truly ashamed. By another change. By some other reason beyond her. She had no idea anymore. But when the cascading feathers stopped falling and the perpetual itch of pesky keratin sheathes faded? Fire-Lily one night before leaving her hollow for the first time in days (other than her occasional trips out to eat or drink, of course) decided to rip the metaphorical band-aid off. After all, surely she was just being dramatic, right? They were just new feathers, the same as the old. Nothing truly had changed, right..? ...Well, then she laid her sights on them. Her feathers were no longer the bright and flashy oranges, yellows and reds as before. Darker now, as if seared by an invisible flame. And speckled across them were sparkles that resembled the night sky itself, like a thousand tiny stars had claimed her like she was a warrior of the heavens rather than the mountains. Fire-Lily would be lying if she said she wasn't surprised. How one simple molt could drastically change her feather's hues... ...But maybe, just maybe... Change wasn't entirely a bad thing.
