Aamu
Aamu has finished his little bird. It's a pretty cute thing, looking more plump now that it's painted in subtle beiges and blues, and for good measure he's strewn some glitter over it. The eyes are black and beady and he's pushed a small hook into its back and lets it turn slowly on its string. He likes it. He hopes others will, too.
When Bastien announces his intention to go visit the Firling Aamu's head snaps up. He'd been lost in his own little world, staring at the slowly turning bird. He keeps silent but puts the bird on the table and focuses on putting his paints back where he took them from, and carefully leaving the brush out for cleaning. Then he gets up and takes his chonky little birb, and follows the others into the cold.
When Bastien announces his intention to go visit the Firling Aamu's head snaps up. He'd been lost in his own little world, staring at the slowly turning bird. He keeps silent but puts the bird on the table and focuses on putting his paints back where he took them from, and carefully leaving the brush out for cleaning. Then he gets up and takes his chonky little birb, and follows the others into the cold.
You are the night-time fear
You are the morning when it's clear
You are the morning when it's clear
