Abelas makes Sene paper cranes in the evenings. They fly around the tent, and they get tangled in her hair. They are beautiful, and they make her laugh, and this makes them both happy.
But sometimes, outside, where the world is mean, and the light is too bright, she gets lost. Solas made butterflies, not paper cranes. Where is the line between nature and the thing you wish you could love? Sene asks herself that, sometimes.