Lena
Her features dimmed at the thought, but then another came to mind – for the reasons the Voice had utilized Stevie, and many others. “Maybe it’s for Ancients then?” Would they enjoy a pool of blood? She didn’t know enough about them to confirm such notions, but left it laden there, for something other than a vicious crime laden in its depths.
Wandering back over to outcroppings and pools, hands busy moving and shifting rocks (whilst praying to see buds and blossoms in their midst), she listened to other aspects necessary for Zavien’s quest, nodding and smiling all the while. She flushed again when he noted she’d been the influence; uncertain if she considered herself one at all. “Well, I’m glad for it,” she nodded with a brightening smile – swallowing down something she couldn’t quite measure, and then placed another orange stone amongst his growing pile.
Yet to actually relax into its depths, too consumed and determined, the notions of being out of luck hadn’t really occurred to her. Perhaps the Caretaker had simply believed if they stuck around long enough, and searched and devised and conquered, then the flowers would eventually reveal themselves. Hope was a buoyant and powerful thing, and gods she’d yearned to right the wrongs of being so wholly ineffectual in the Feverlands. To be able to do something; play a small part in a cast of greater roles.
So her grin fell, and her eyes went down to the springs, the rocks in her hands, the ripple of water undulating around her. Placing more of them within, and biting her lip, she tried to forge her way out of the foggy and dismal mood settling in her chest. “Let me fly around and see, just in case.” What if they’d missed one? What if there was one stuck along the rocky cliffs?
So she shifted into her avian form, drifting upwards, striving to catch sight of gold amongst the plumes.
Wandering back over to outcroppings and pools, hands busy moving and shifting rocks (whilst praying to see buds and blossoms in their midst), she listened to other aspects necessary for Zavien’s quest, nodding and smiling all the while. She flushed again when he noted she’d been the influence; uncertain if she considered herself one at all. “Well, I’m glad for it,” she nodded with a brightening smile – swallowing down something she couldn’t quite measure, and then placed another orange stone amongst his growing pile.
Yet to actually relax into its depths, too consumed and determined, the notions of being out of luck hadn’t really occurred to her. Perhaps the Caretaker had simply believed if they stuck around long enough, and searched and devised and conquered, then the flowers would eventually reveal themselves. Hope was a buoyant and powerful thing, and gods she’d yearned to right the wrongs of being so wholly ineffectual in the Feverlands. To be able to do something; play a small part in a cast of greater roles.
So her grin fell, and her eyes went down to the springs, the rocks in her hands, the ripple of water undulating around her. Placing more of them within, and biting her lip, she tried to forge her way out of the foggy and dismal mood settling in her chest. “Let me fly around and see, just in case.” What if they’d missed one? What if there was one stuck along the rocky cliffs?
So she shifted into her avian form, drifting upwards, striving to catch sight of gold amongst the plumes.
little more like coming home
