A/N: For the Pocket Morty Competition (Butterfly Morty: write about someone finding a butterfly)

"Poppy! Poppy, come back, dear. You mustn't wander too far!" her mother calls, but Poppy barely hears her.

The four year old is too caught up in the moment, too in love with the tall grass, the gentle breeze, the bliss of the freedom. She runs faster, squealing as her tiny legs thud against the ground.

"Poppy! If you don't slow down this instant!"

And she does. Not because of her mother's exasperated cries behind her, but because something catches her eye. Something small and yellow, barely noticeable among the whirl of colors beneath her feet.

"Mummy, look!" she says, pointing at the butterfly, her mouth twisting into a broad grin. "Butterfly, Mummy!"

Her mother comes to a stop beside her and frowns. "He's hurt, Poppy. Better move along."

Her grin fading to a frown, she kneels, looking more closely at the creature. Sure enough, its wings won't flap the way they should. They flutter ever so slightly, but the butterfly can't take flight. Poppy reaches for him.

"Don't, dear. He's suffering enough."

Poppy doesn't like that word. She doesn't know what it means, but she knows it can't be good.

"I don't want him to hurt, Mummy," she says softly, placing her finger right beside it.

"You ought to just leave him alone, sweetie. He can't be helped."

But she refuses to believe that. Poppy knows that anyone can be helped. Why would animals and bugs be any different?

"Come along, sweetie. I've packed us a night picnic."

But Poppy doesn't listen. She moves her finger, touching the tiny legs of the butterfly. It twitches, and she almost screams in surprise. "I want to help, Mummy," she says, lifting her hand.

"Poppy-"

The wings begin to move, stronger now. A tingle forms throughout her body, and Poppy laughs.

"Mummy, look!"

The butterfly flaps its wings, taking flight. It lingers for only a moment, resting briefly on Poppy's nose before taking to the sky.

"Mummy, I helped!" the small child beams proudly, clapping her hands.

Her mother stares, eyes wide, mouth slack as though she can't believe what she's just seen. "Y-yes, dear. I don't know how, but you did."

Without a care in the world, Poppy sprints ahead. "Picnic now, Mummy, picnic!"