Lena
hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
that perches in the soul
Talyson wasn’t the only one in this midst, and though Lena raised her head from her bowed position before the offering sanction, she wasn’t Petunia. Not answering, and shrugging her shoulders at her wayward snowball companion, she persisted in snagging the water from her bag. A nice canteen, not too fanciful, but enough to do the job, with the liquid inside snagged from one of the surrounding streams – enough to quench the thirst of any springtime deity, she hoped.
But Mittens had a hankering too, for mischief and devilry.
Before the Caretaker could even snag the little beast, it was off, hastening towards the voice. “Oh, don’t!” She whispered, fiendishly stalking after it, snagging her canteen and making sure it stayed in her grasp. In rapid time, it beelined for the stranger (though, not really) in the midst, hurtling and intending to make use of its tangible form to smack him with a ferocious force of snow.
But Mittens had a hankering too, for mischief and devilry.
Before the Caretaker could even snag the little beast, it was off, hastening towards the voice. “Oh, don’t!” She whispered, fiendishly stalking after it, snagging her canteen and making sure it stayed in her grasp. In rapid time, it beelined for the stranger (though, not really) in the midst, hurtling and intending to make use of its tangible form to smack him with a ferocious force of snow.
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all
and never stops at all
