Lena
hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
that perches in the soul
Lightness; only the benedictions of old and assurances of new beckoned and preened over her features, waving away anything else. Perhaps the worries were paltry, trivial nothings, and that was exactly where they needed to stay. Lena doubted any retribution if she voiced them, but could predict the surmise of so many of her fellow constituents in one varied phrase (nothing to bother over; we will defeat them) without so much as a passing glance, a confidence in strength and constitution, in will and abhorrence.
So she pieced and pocketed it away – rising from the ground, leaving the current wards to their healing, while Anju spoke of a world far beyond. An untamed individual, this woman of the swamp, bending only to the sway and hold of her lands; a remarkable feeling, perhaps, to hold dominion in between the roots, rocks, and trees. Bright. “You’ll have to tell me what you saw!” She clapped her hands together, rustling in her bag for her notebook as she extended and opened the door to the enclosure, allowing everyone to pass neatly through, before shutting it tightly once more.
Her footsteps were petalsoft on the Celestine ground, as if she wasn’t even there – airy and ethereal in her own gentle, formidable wake. Like a whisper, like a breeze, part of greater, grander parts, but naught remorseless and unmoving in her own shape.
The path bent along a corner, rounding through to more forest inhabited exhibits, where a babbling brook, hastened only by Frey, coursed in between. It elongated to a widening river as one stepped alongside its traces, containing several flickers of scales and voices. “Some sick Whisper Fish have come recently,” and herein her fingers traced over the aperture, following on the same patterns as before, opening, shutting, and waiting. Her head inclined in a curious gesture, as if permitting Anju to go seek them out for herself, while Lena went towards a portion near the opening, gathering adequate supplies left there from the evening before.
So she pieced and pocketed it away – rising from the ground, leaving the current wards to their healing, while Anju spoke of a world far beyond. An untamed individual, this woman of the swamp, bending only to the sway and hold of her lands; a remarkable feeling, perhaps, to hold dominion in between the roots, rocks, and trees. Bright. “You’ll have to tell me what you saw!” She clapped her hands together, rustling in her bag for her notebook as she extended and opened the door to the enclosure, allowing everyone to pass neatly through, before shutting it tightly once more.
Her footsteps were petalsoft on the Celestine ground, as if she wasn’t even there – airy and ethereal in her own gentle, formidable wake. Like a whisper, like a breeze, part of greater, grander parts, but naught remorseless and unmoving in her own shape.
The path bent along a corner, rounding through to more forest inhabited exhibits, where a babbling brook, hastened only by Frey, coursed in between. It elongated to a widening river as one stepped alongside its traces, containing several flickers of scales and voices. “Some sick Whisper Fish have come recently,” and herein her fingers traced over the aperture, following on the same patterns as before, opening, shutting, and waiting. Her head inclined in a curious gesture, as if permitting Anju to go seek them out for herself, while Lena went towards a portion near the opening, gathering adequate supplies left there from the evening before.
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all
and never stops at all
