Lena
and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm
and sore must be the storm
Lena couldn’t help her grimace as Mittens found its target with potent accuracy (again), pondering how she was going to find the means and measures to control the little demon. The round of apologies started again, “Oh gods, I’m so sorry,” when she noted she vaguely recognized the man’s voice, but couldn’t pinpoint how or why; perhaps once a passerby maneuvering through the Celestine.
Explanations seemed all the more ridiculous the more she said them, especially as Mittens reformed, with an extraordinarily smug look on its stony features. “Um, it wasn’t me. It’s my companion.” From there, the snowball twirled in midair, defiant and unruly, moving to hover over her shoulder, as if it was a guard (for nothing and no reason at all). Her eyes flickered, worried and hesitant, over to the artwork. “Was anything ruined?”
Explanations seemed all the more ridiculous the more she said them, especially as Mittens reformed, with an extraordinarily smug look on its stony features. “Um, it wasn’t me. It’s my companion.” From there, the snowball twirled in midair, defiant and unruly, moving to hover over her shoulder, as if it was a guard (for nothing and no reason at all). Her eyes flickered, worried and hesitant, over to the artwork. “Was anything ruined?”
that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm
that kept so many warm
