[se] till every flower blooms

Lena

hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul

If the notions seemed awkward or stilted, Lena paid them no mind; her thoughts already occupied on the potential commentary from Anju. “All right, we can start from the beginning,” and her eyes were alight – little beacons of gilded range – the hum under her breath increasing as she lowered herself to a crouch beside the rivulet. Her head inclined slightly away the churning and babbling brook, the grand smile there and ready. “What did you see first?” She grabbed her notebook and pencil out of her basket of supplies, just in case Anju had mentioned of creatures she’d never seen or heard of.

As for the whisper fish? The youth could preside and provide knowledge and sagacity in return, bending over and inspecting the rest of her wares, the quiet clink of glass bottles resounding before she found the right one. “They come from the Greatwood.” So it would make sense that the Dragoon, likely never having traversed that far, no matter if she had a compass or not, hadn’t been witness to their illustrious scales. Lena took great care in removing the topper, and sprinkled a fair amount of remedies along the surface of the water, careful, precise in her measurements, and then watching as they embarked towards the surface. “Apparently, if you listen close enough, they tell Fae stories.”

and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all