Lena
hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
that perches in the soul
Most dragons Lena had met had been of similar ilk; yearning to impress, confident in their abilities, and wondrous to behold once they were coaxed and enticed. To the Caretaker, they had every reason to be amongst and amidst the former; emboldened, brave, fierce warriors, only minimized to become companions for those who required their abilities. Their counterparts in size were much more potent and dangerous, but it never erased their beauty, grace, and prowess.
That Lena was lost in this moment of awe wasn’t surprising, barely blinking away from the obsidian snout, digging into her basket to a ready supply of treats. She layered them along her open palm, lifting her hand in extension, waiting for a semblance of reaction amidst her calm.
When the man spoke, she vaguely tilted her head, but never took her eyes off the dragon. “Lyra, I’m very pleased to meet you. I’m Lena.” An arch of a brow, and still her focus remained upon leathery wings and sleek, Stygian forms. “And who are you, good sir?”
That Lena was lost in this moment of awe wasn’t surprising, barely blinking away from the obsidian snout, digging into her basket to a ready supply of treats. She layered them along her open palm, lifting her hand in extension, waiting for a semblance of reaction amidst her calm.
When the man spoke, she vaguely tilted her head, but never took her eyes off the dragon. “Lyra, I’m very pleased to meet you. I’m Lena.” An arch of a brow, and still her focus remained upon leathery wings and sleek, Stygian forms. “And who are you, good sir?”
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all
and never stops at all
