Happy as a clam Wiflor would sit there and watch as Cyrus slowly got up.  Her wide smile seeming to say that the entire situation was a game.  Even Atticus confirmed this much as they entered the room and gave her a pat on the head, her low purr sounding as her eyes looked to the wizened old wizard.  There were so many places to explore and so many things to be explained but not a thing to be had for that situation as she had no way of understanding it all.  Setting her eyes back to Cyrus her thoughts would race with wonder about the cities.  The lives and worlds of man. But a new voice would cause her head to jerk in the direction of Mary.<br/><br/>Perhaps it was just how Maids were.  Most of the careers held a silent and almost noble aspect and demeanor in order to provide the best of service.  Wiflor didn't like it however.  Staring at Mary her tail would flick with the purr becoming more of a grumble.  Who was it suppose to be?  They smelled of so many things like the tower did but to an extreme.  Handling raw foods and the likes she half wondered if Mary was a replacement.  Did Mary come to replace her perhaps?  Wiflor didn't know.  But for now she'd ignore it.<br/><br/>______<br/><br/>Once they made it to the dining hall her eyes would watch Atticus and Cyrus.  Their dishes seemed so much more colorful but perhaps it was also befitting.  Their colorful plates only held the smallest bit of something that would appease her desire.  Thinking of it she'd examine the room to be on alert of Mary before hearing the sound of her name called, her head jerking to watch Cyrus a bit wide eyed.  Was she better then the Maid? Was she needed more?  She wanted to know but the answer soon came.  Spoons.  With a slump of her shoulders she'd look down and notice that they wanted her to make another attempt.   She couldn't hold the rope in the labyrinth, she couldn't hold the spoon back at Cyrus' home, and she could never get the lesson down with the Scholar.  But with Cyrus so adamant about it she'd try.<br/><br/>Setting her fingers down on the spoon they would turn slightly to try and hold it, however the moment she did the claws would release from the tufts of fur and push themselves directly in the way, each claw sliding across the smooth surface of the spoon.  Grumbling she'd try again yet the attempt would leave her fingers unable to close completely around the spoon.  This lesson was one of defeat and it was defeat she was made to face often.  However she also knew that they wanted her to try and try again and so she would.  On her third attempt her hand would twinge at the awkward position before it flung out of her hand a foot across the table.<br/><br/>She hated this lesson so.  But reaching forward she'd drag the spoon near and with both hands hold the spoon up, dipping it into what may well be the worse of things to give a person like Wiflor.  An herb and garlic soup.  No meat if not a minimal sum of it.  Either way she'd raise the spoon with the utmost care, balancing the soup in the basin before closing her mouth down on it.  It was then at that moment that the flavor hit her.  Every inch of fur would stand on end, her hair even seeming to friz up at that instant as her eyes widened.  After that a loud cry of disappointment before Wiflor darted several feet away from the bowl and table alike, the chair she sat on toppling over.<br/><br/>She hated such things so greatly.  So very greatly, but slowly she'd approach the table again, almost as though the bowl of soup would attack her.  Staring at it her hands quickly reached for the steak to drag off over the edge before she bolted off again to enjoy the steak far from the soup bowl.  Certain things were not too satisfactory to her pallet.