Lena
and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm
and sore must be the storm
The smile persisted in its prosperous and genuine artistry, shaking hands in greeting, in the exchanging of names. Sohalia sounded gentle, enduring maybe, against the backdrop of soft and delicate rain meandering through the branches, indulgent upon the blend of saltwater along the estuary. Mittens managed a brief grumble through stone fixations on its mouth, and the youth dropped one hand from her braid to pat it softly on the head.
Sohalia’s inquiry didn’t bother her in the slightest – though her response came along a melodious laugh. “Not to worry. Many have already asked.” It had become a sight in Stormbreak, considering how often she was chasing the companion down, and why it was currently leashed. “An abominable snowball. A bit destructive, but means well.” At least, she hoped so. Ensuring the end of the scarf was still looped along her belt, and keeping a careful glance on Mittens, her head tilted vaguely. “Are you from the Greatwood?”
Sohalia’s inquiry didn’t bother her in the slightest – though her response came along a melodious laugh. “Not to worry. Many have already asked.” It had become a sight in Stormbreak, considering how often she was chasing the companion down, and why it was currently leashed. “An abominable snowball. A bit destructive, but means well.” At least, she hoped so. Ensuring the end of the scarf was still looped along her belt, and keeping a careful glance on Mittens, her head tilted vaguely. “Are you from the Greatwood?”
that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm
that kept so many warm
