Wasn't it so odd? How the world she knew was ousted so swiftly, replaced by... this?

Citlali reclined against the grass, gingerly holding a bundle of red berries. Usually, she was skeptical of ever picking them, for some could be lethally poisonous. Yet, she could recognize the scent of raspberry anywhere. There was no doubt about it.

The girl could vaguely recall Huitzilin informing her of how the leaves of raspberries had mild effects for females in pregnancy or childbirth; as if that mattered, now. Or ever, for that matter—the two were the last of Quetzalli's children.

Still, perhaps he was somewhere out there. Perhaps he had children by now—a ghost of a smile curled along Citlali's lips at the notion that maybe, just maybe, she had nieces and nephews. Somewhere.

For now, Citlali returned again to that small ditch. A familiar (at least somewhat) dip in the ground, perhaps the one thing she'd learned to recognize properly in this strange world. She placed the raspberries on her paws and gingerly picked them away from the branches—not nearly as appetizing as a nice carcass of some sort. But it'll do.