Rhia perched on a branch, watching him. Thank nature she still hadn't figured out how paper was made, so at the moment, she was just curious. Until the scent of the pipe hit her.

With a small wooshing sound, she asked the tree she was on to aid her, and the branch bent slightly, letting her slide down and land in front of him, all 13 year old, point eared short foot nothing of her, hands on hips, blue-grey eyes blazing with temper.

"Why do people keep burning plants?" she asked, glaring at his pipe.