love should be as flowers of the weedy sort
Of course, given permission, Kamaria's smile turns into an excited grin. She sets to work promptly, needing no other assurances. Give her an inch and she'll go a mile, there's no regard for the underlying reluctance. If Melita doesn't want her there, she'll have to be more forward than that.
Kamaria doesn't begin with the sand, however. By now, she's done this a few times, and so she goes to gather up some seashells first with all the confidence in the world one would have when they know exactly what they're doing.
She stops beside the little naturally-formed building, pausing to appreciate it's forms and shimmering surfaces. Along its edges, she bounds with shells piled against her chest. She locates a few pieces of seaglass, coral, and tucks them into her arms too.
Returning, she flops down onto her knees adjacent to Melita and her work-in-progress castle. Bluish eyes glance over curiously, but she's not too concerned by what she sees yet. Obviously she has some catching up to do, but she doesn't rush it. The process is the best part, after all!
For now the shells serve as tools, as she begins to scoop the sand into piles to draft out where she wants the highest and lowest points of her castle to be. Using a mix of molding fingers and shaping shells, she manages to build a base with smooth walls and even some shapes carved along them.
As they work, Kamaria tilts her chin over her shoulder to look at the red-haired woman beside her. Her smile dips downward into a subtle frown and she asks, "How come you don't stay when you come to the house?" She isn't meaning to be confrontational, of course, not understanding the complexities of all the different situations and relationships. All she knows is that Melita is family, and she's around, but she never visits. "Is it 'cause you don't like me?" She lifts her brows with concern.
Kamaria doesn't begin with the sand, however. By now, she's done this a few times, and so she goes to gather up some seashells first with all the confidence in the world one would have when they know exactly what they're doing.
She stops beside the little naturally-formed building, pausing to appreciate it's forms and shimmering surfaces. Along its edges, she bounds with shells piled against her chest. She locates a few pieces of seaglass, coral, and tucks them into her arms too.
Returning, she flops down onto her knees adjacent to Melita and her work-in-progress castle. Bluish eyes glance over curiously, but she's not too concerned by what she sees yet. Obviously she has some catching up to do, but she doesn't rush it. The process is the best part, after all!
For now the shells serve as tools, as she begins to scoop the sand into piles to draft out where she wants the highest and lowest points of her castle to be. Using a mix of molding fingers and shaping shells, she manages to build a base with smooth walls and even some shapes carved along them.
As they work, Kamaria tilts her chin over her shoulder to look at the red-haired woman beside her. Her smile dips downward into a subtle frown and she asks, "How come you don't stay when you come to the house?" She isn't meaning to be confrontational, of course, not understanding the complexities of all the different situations and relationships. All she knows is that Melita is family, and she's around, but she never visits. "Is it 'cause you don't like me?" She lifts her brows with concern.
they break through cement and persist
Kamaria
