[se] thunderstorms a week ago

Lena

and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm

The Caretaker wasn’t offering her own experiences, but perhaps, someone out there had relished the notions of the campaigns. Was proud of their achievements. Had Gideon still been alive, she could imagine the priest with wild, exaggerated stories and pieces to tell, with damnation on his tongue and fire in his passionate words. But Lena was none of those things, and while they had managed to maintain some level of decorum, grace, and life along Stormbreak’s shields, they’d also lost precious pieces. “Depends on your definition of good, I suppose,” with a shrug of her shoulders, and a slightly wilted smile. “The Voice is gone, but not without tremendous loss.”

And then they tried to repair, grow, replace all the manifestations of things broken.

Rinsing and repeating with the Mata Mata’s necessities, she began humming a tune; maybe self-soothing, maybe simply to fill in the void. “I didn’t – but I was certainly ready to prove myself.” More of a triumphant grin settled on her features, better worn, effervescent. Gossipflies, however, we more of an incentive to laugh, a light and airy connotation. “They look like normal butterflies, until you approach – and then they have human faces and voices.” Shrugging her shoulders, the giggles persisted, enough to set the snake in her hold at ease. “They also speak in song, and never give you any noteworthy answers.”

that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm