Lena
and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm
and sore must be the storm
She’d been to the festival before; by way of tradition, when it stoked into reaches of Stormbreak in childhood, purposeful, meaningful, to share in the shards of ancestors and those who’d come before her. She’d never arrived for someone like her sister – the close, tight-knit bond, the way it had been severed and cut and diminished within the blink of an eye, the rumble of a Tower collapsing, down, down, down…
Brave and stalwart, her fingers didn’t shake as they held Sera’s painted lantern, the fixtures of dragons and engineering designated on its sides. Instead, she held her head high, and listened to the wind billow through the Feverlands, watched as others milled about, circulating the table and the feast. She couldn’t bring herself to glance or snag at the food now, not with a belly full of apprehension, and maybe a wish, a dream, to see her sibling again.
Simply to say goodbye.
Brave and stalwart, her fingers didn’t shake as they held Sera’s painted lantern, the fixtures of dragons and engineering designated on its sides. Instead, she held her head high, and listened to the wind billow through the Feverlands, watched as others milled about, circulating the table and the feast. She couldn’t bring herself to glance or snag at the food now, not with a belly full of apprehension, and maybe a wish, a dream, to see her sibling again.
Simply to say goodbye.
that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm
that kept so many warm
