Lena
and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm
and sore must be the storm
Her eyes went to the man, and then flickered downward. “Thank you. You’re very kind. You can stay if you’d like. The animals and the gardens are worth viewing.” She paused slightly, not realizing, in all the ensuing questions, she hadn’t introduced herself. “Sorry. I’m Lena. The Caretaker of the Celestine.”
With a slight smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and a level of exhaustion she hadn’t felt for some time, she returned to her painting – brushstrokes marking pieces of vines curlicuing around the dragon; a vivid green, outlined and marked upon the darker enamel and lacquer. Realizing it’d be rude to spin herself back into silence, she addressed the man in the ease of introductions, rather than diving into the trauma outside the enclosures and grounds. “Where are you from, Darkeye?”
With a slight smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and a level of exhaustion she hadn’t felt for some time, she returned to her painting – brushstrokes marking pieces of vines curlicuing around the dragon; a vivid green, outlined and marked upon the darker enamel and lacquer. Realizing it’d be rude to spin herself back into silence, she addressed the man in the ease of introductions, rather than diving into the trauma outside the enclosures and grounds. “Where are you from, Darkeye?”
that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm
that kept so many warm
