to be made of sunshine is beautiful
to be the light and the warmth and to be loved
There was another moving and maneuvering about the maze; not the first time, nor the last, she’d stumbled upon someone there. One hour it’d been Phoebe, striving to maintain strength and courage in the face of potential treachery and lethality. Her gilded gaze caught the unfamiliar head of hair though, and found she had no idea who the individual was – uncertain if she should call to him from her branches and brambles, or if she should’ve left well enough alone, gaze floating to her weapons lying along the inclining trunk.
The curious intonation and greeting though, not reserved for her, but towards a nearby squirrel, gave her the notion that perhaps munitions wouldn’t be required. She gave into silence while still swinging her feet, pondering, pondering, pondering, if she should’ve answered in space of the rodent, or simply remained in hushed platitudes. Unfortunately for her, further inquiry debated and wanted to know if he could actually discuss such matters with squirrels.
Did someone actually maintain the labyrinth? It seemed unlikely; for whatever purpose the warren had been concocted and created for, it had long since lost any essence of support or preservation, left to fend for itself, twisting and turning, misshapen and wreaking havoc, in possession of many wonderful, terrible things. Maybe that’d been the point, to leave it to its own devices, to allow it to fester and decay, to permit the rest of the world to venture into its wake and be swallowed by its merciless, unrelenting, unseen fangs.
She shrugged from her bough, suddenly restless. Fangorn uttered a low growl, the slightest of reverberations, and the youth made a pointed effort not to look at the stranger down below, instead a quiet voice mustered from her vocals, as if made from the wind. “I’m not sure if anyone does.”
The curious intonation and greeting though, not reserved for her, but towards a nearby squirrel, gave her the notion that perhaps munitions wouldn’t be required. She gave into silence while still swinging her feet, pondering, pondering, pondering, if she should’ve answered in space of the rodent, or simply remained in hushed platitudes. Unfortunately for her, further inquiry debated and wanted to know if he could actually discuss such matters with squirrels.
Did someone actually maintain the labyrinth? It seemed unlikely; for whatever purpose the warren had been concocted and created for, it had long since lost any essence of support or preservation, left to fend for itself, twisting and turning, misshapen and wreaking havoc, in possession of many wonderful, terrible things. Maybe that’d been the point, to leave it to its own devices, to allow it to fester and decay, to permit the rest of the world to venture into its wake and be swallowed by its merciless, unrelenting, unseen fangs.
She shrugged from her bough, suddenly restless. Fangorn uttered a low growl, the slightest of reverberations, and the youth made a pointed effort not to look at the stranger down below, instead a quiet voice mustered from her vocals, as if made from the wind. “I’m not sure if anyone does.”
to be made of sunshine is painful
to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach
MELITA
