there's always a glimmer in those
Aidon’s easygoing, gentle ability to find, discover, and pinpoint Fangorn came with its own rewards – a low rumble meant to sound like laughter adorned the garden, and the pumpkin’s vines flew along in contentment, in merriment. Following thereafter, he encouraged the dragon to then do the same, ushering the beast along with the same greenery, and then closing his eerie eyes, grumbling something that could’ve been like counting.
As for weaponry and weeds, Melita applied herself readily until they were done, brushing her hands together, eyeing the dirt, and then wiping them on the ends of her dress with complete indifference. The rest of Maeve’s input left her with nods for Remi, and a hidden grimace for the other conjectures. Without anything else to go by, the honeybee wasn’t certain what she could say. “Well, I hope it goes well,” was all she could offer.
Amidst the following filaments though, the penchant for excitement concerning bees and honey left her with fervency, a way to cloak the hidden, furtive natures of sadness, of sorrow, of all these pinnacles flickering below the surface. “No! But I can’t wait to try!” And then there was only rapt fascination, a dropped jaw, and rounded eyes, as Maeve began to play a harmonica, and her gaze went to the very bees – as they seemed to fall into a trance. “Amazing! How did you do that? Where did you get it?” Rapid fire inquiries, and due for more all the time.
As for weaponry and weeds, Melita applied herself readily until they were done, brushing her hands together, eyeing the dirt, and then wiping them on the ends of her dress with complete indifference. The rest of Maeve’s input left her with nods for Remi, and a hidden grimace for the other conjectures. Without anything else to go by, the honeybee wasn’t certain what she could say. “Well, I hope it goes well,” was all she could offer.
Amidst the following filaments though, the penchant for excitement concerning bees and honey left her with fervency, a way to cloak the hidden, furtive natures of sadness, of sorrow, of all these pinnacles flickering below the surface. “No! But I can’t wait to try!” And then there was only rapt fascination, a dropped jaw, and rounded eyes, as Maeve began to play a harmonica, and her gaze went to the very bees – as they seemed to fall into a trance. “Amazing! How did you do that? Where did you get it?” Rapid fire inquiries, and due for more all the time.
who have been through the dark
MELITA
