Lena
and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm
and sore must be the storm
The Caretaker, true to her role, immediately began her inspection. With permission granted from the dragon, her hands carefully, gently, softly, stroked over the leathery wings, and then the tail, humming under her breath with residual ease. It’s a practiced, perfected craft, there and hardly invasive at all, hoping to ensure the physical health of the animal from the exterior, an easygoing press over ridges and flesh. “Very impressive,” she encouraged Sugar, for it wasn’t a lie; Lena had a soft spot for the lizard brethren and their noble strengths, their regal mights. When she found nothing to bother her, the youth offered more placating treats, a few more scratches administered under Sugar’s jaw for better measures. “Three years,” she reflected in kind. Not long, not in the grand scheme of things. “Many adventures, I suppose?” Her eyes and voice reverberated towards the dragon, though she presumed Ronin could answer for himself.
The cold air billowing against her stirred a laugh, a mellifluous flow of movement and motion, her own warm breath pervading in return. Favored aspects went towards a human – a husband in particular – and she smiled again. “Is he here with you now?”
The cold air billowing against her stirred a laugh, a mellifluous flow of movement and motion, her own warm breath pervading in return. Favored aspects went towards a human – a husband in particular – and she smiled again. “Is he here with you now?”
that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm
that kept so many warm
