"Everyone says you were one of Mother's best friends," Cinder was sitting up on his bedfurs in the candle-lit confines of his family's den, knees up with his arms wrapped around his legs. "What can you tell me about her?"
Hovering in front of him, Flutterby smiled lightly. "Oooohhh. Talk-Soft Highthing very nice, very happy." It stroked the ends of its silken headscarf. "With longpretty hair and always busy-busy." It flew over to the spot the boy knew used to house his mother's loom, and pantomimed the actions which, as he knew from watching others, she must have performed countless times. "Makes many dressthings for everyone!"
"I know all that already." Cinder had seen memories of his mother from other elves. But Flutterby had been special to his mother, too. "Is there anything you can show me that no one else can?”
The Preserver settled to the floor, and began pacing in what could have been a deadpan mockery of the boy's father when the chief was thinking through some problem or another. Its face lit up after a few moments, "Ohohoh! Flutterby knows!" The bug zipped off down the stairs toward the Storage Dens, but then very quickly came back up. "Busythink Highthing stay put!" it insisted, and then it disappeared again. When it came back, it carefully laid a number of tiny silken wonders at Cinder's feet. One caught his eye, and Cinder had just separated it from the lot when Flutterby came back with another load, and then another.
"Talk-Soft Highthing make for Flutterby, so Flutterby keeps for Talk-Soft Highthing!"
"My mother made all of these?" The boy was awed by the collection. He had seen examples of Whispersilk's work before: winter clothes kept in storage until needed, the blanket he had as a baby, but never these. They looked almost good as new; silk was a sturdy material, and these pieces had been well-cared for. And as he continued to examine them he found all but the simplest wraps had at least a few stitches in them, likely to help them hold fast to the bug's almond-shaped head.
Flutterby all but leaped upon its treasures. "Busythink Highthing be careful! No break strings!"
Suddenly flustered, he said "I am! I will be!" The lesson he'd learned from a fragile wolf amulet was still fresh in his mind. "I know they're special to you."
He looked, with more obvious care, at the one he had set aside. When he started to put it on his thumb, Flutterby didn’t move to stop him. The hat was sea-green and almost pouch-like, bound with a dark band. He guessed it would be about shoulder-length on the Preserver. It was covered in splotches of dye, though, something more typical of another of the tribe's Preservers. He gave it a look. "Um, are you sure this one's yours?"
Flutterby produced a sour face. "Is Flutterby’s! Muckabout take for new-green dressydance. Get all messy. Flutterby take to Talk-Soft Highthing for fix-it. Wash wash wash, but colorgunk no come out. Muckabout good at making messes." It meticulously pried though the pile. "So Talk-Soft Highthing maaaaaaaake this headtopper for new!" It held up a bright sky blue mass that the cub couldn’t make tails or paws of. So Flutterby took off its current 'headtopper' and put the artifact on, patting and primping it like a raven cleaning its wings. It was then clear the hat had been cut and folded and hemmed to create the appearance of a blue flower, a diminutive knot at the top where the stamens would be. It gave him a big proud smile.
The bug spent a good half-hour showing off and modeling its wardrobe. Until, as skyfire-quick as it had had the idea to bring the hats upstairs, it chirped, "Must take back now!" and gathered up a pile to take back to... wherever it had been hiding them. Again it requested he stay put, clearly not willing to share the location.
"Thank you for sharing," he said to the bug. "It means a lot to me."
"Is all good! Is fun to talk of Talk-Soft Highthing!" And then it was off.