Got the dreamer's disease
The slowly sinking shape of Fern’s features fades her brightness by degrees, the darker line of frustration starting to settle. Not anger, not something tempestuous and loud, but the quiet, internal balling of thought and sense not aligning properly. Her understanding feels so plain, how do they not also see it? Whenever she’d felt this before, enough wailing and fussing eventually resolved it, but now her lips press in as if silence is an equal force to scream with.
Fortunately, the nosedive into miscommunication doesn’t linger long enough to fully drag her under, the easy dawn of acceptance pushing out every line of her face again as she turns abruptly toward Isla, a gasp of approval released. ”That’s perfect!” she nods, one hand falling away from its wreath around Ever as she twists. Compromise would quickly become Fern’s ally.
She turns to watch Isla set to work, as if needing proof of it in view before relief could replace all the worry. ”We have to feed him every day to make sure he’s okay,” she asserts, as if they are both the ones arranging the rules here. Although Isla’s other idea is equally fantastic, and Fern’s attention drops to the dogfather with a touch that’s more stroke than grip now against his nape. Ball will surely set off a response, although Fern doesn’t fully know it, feeding into it innocently. ”Dad, where’s the ball?” The must practice.
Fortunately, the nosedive into miscommunication doesn’t linger long enough to fully drag her under, the easy dawn of acceptance pushing out every line of her face again as she turns abruptly toward Isla, a gasp of approval released. ”That’s perfect!” she nods, one hand falling away from its wreath around Ever as she twists. Compromise would quickly become Fern’s ally.
She turns to watch Isla set to work, as if needing proof of it in view before relief could replace all the worry. ”We have to feed him every day to make sure he’s okay,” she asserts, as if they are both the ones arranging the rules here. Although Isla’s other idea is equally fantastic, and Fern’s attention drops to the dogfather with a touch that’s more stroke than grip now against his nape. Ball will surely set off a response, although Fern doesn’t fully know it, feeding into it innocently. ”Dad, where’s the ball?” The must practice.
Fern
This world is gonna pull through, don't give up
