Lena
hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
that perches in the soul
With a spring in her step, the Caretaker walked her way through the Plaza. Forgoing the sweets shops and the bakeries, or even the local pharmancy, her intentions were all the more clear from the branch in her hands, palm gently closed around the timber. Inexperienced in foundations of armaments, or melding and molding in general, pursuit was paramount in the notions of potential crafters, and she’d asked a number of her individuals who they readily preferred for such a task.
So, eventually, she wound her way to the front of a shop – listening to the clanking, tinkering, and rattling of noise from beyond the door. Taking her hood off, and wiping some snow off the door handle, she steeled and forged a breath, raising a fist to gently rap her knuckles on the wooden frame. Uncertain how to start, she began speaking – though it’d likely be muffled by everything else. “Hello. I was wondering if you’d have time to craft something today.”
So, eventually, she wound her way to the front of a shop – listening to the clanking, tinkering, and rattling of noise from beyond the door. Taking her hood off, and wiping some snow off the door handle, she steeled and forged a breath, raising a fist to gently rap her knuckles on the wooden frame. Uncertain how to start, she began speaking – though it’d likely be muffled by everything else. “Hello. I was wondering if you’d have time to craft something today.”
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all
and never stops at all
