Lena
hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
that perches in the soul
Lena nodded along, no longer studying the flower petals, but conceding them to her basket for perusal and study later. Her hands grasped over some more valuable kindling instead, obliged to listen, pondering the state of affairs that was Stormbreak. “What kind of parties, do you think?” She wasn’t sure if the dragoon was the type to invest her wiles in such notions. “Frey is having a masquerade soon,” by a shrug of her shoulders, as if that was a typical route and pondering if they should hold something in the same stead. The world of stones and sagacity had never been much of a…cheery atmosphere.
But the Caretaker couldn’t help the inward grimace at the thought of stepping along the Nest again. Not one for violence, the infrequency of her ventures there were usually due to necessity than anything else – tending to a wounded soldier, or knowing she had to learn some measure of defense. “I must admit I’m not quite cut out for the Nest. But thank you for the offer.” Though they’d never deprived her of her meager, paltry attempts, baring her wooden weaponry against another was difficult at best.
But the Caretaker couldn’t help the inward grimace at the thought of stepping along the Nest again. Not one for violence, the infrequency of her ventures there were usually due to necessity than anything else – tending to a wounded soldier, or knowing she had to learn some measure of defense. “I must admit I’m not quite cut out for the Nest. But thank you for the offer.” Though they’d never deprived her of her meager, paltry attempts, baring her wooden weaponry against another was difficult at best.
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all
and never stops at all
