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She traced the delicate lines beneath the green leaf.  The new growth felt fragile but tenacious, breaking free of winter's grasp, just like her.  Winter?  How did she know about winter?  Ancestral memory, she guessed; seasons were new to her.

She breathed in the scent of buds just opened into flowers.  Behind her she heard a thundering sneeze, started, but resisted the urge to try to flee.  (Could she even flee yet?)  She'd only just gotten here, wasn't ready to leave just yet.  There was so much to see, feel, smell, eat.

A small canopy of young leaves towered above her in a sprawling tangle of branches.  She stretched forward, nudged another leaf, felt its softness.  From her new vantage point she could see young flowers beyond the branches, and instinct told her flowers were good.

She tentatively stretched, feeling her body's new strength.  The last strands of her previous life fell away.  Slowly she stretched her wings and took the first flight of her new life.