in tenebris est veritas.
She holds a crab leg up to her eye line, twisting it between two fingers so that it spins delicately beneath her scrutiny. It is easy to wonder how many moltings might have made it, how many might have yet happened if the animal did not meet its demise. “Our understandings of the items share certain themes,” she observes wistfully, pausing as her mind turns over the possibilities. “The crab shell, endurance. The cockle shell, patience. And so we divine the true meanings of each, and come closer to harnessing their power.”
Then she rests the leg on a shell, retrieving the candle again to fasten the two together with wax. There are two sets of two shells, with four legs attached to each, somewhat resembling the whiskers of a sea lion. She then sets the length of sea grass over them, like the bridge of the pinniped’s nose.
Meanwhile she answers, “Much as the shells welcome the sailors to land, the kelp welcomes swimmers to water. But they obscure the ocean’s depths, protecting it from that which would peer in. Seagrass is... the boundary.” She speaks at a distance, as one reciting a memory. And perhaps not an entirely pleasant one. “The driftwood represents new beginnings, as the husk of an old self wanders the shore in search of a new one.”
The latter is tucked away in her burlap pouch, along with the crab’s legless carapace. It seems whatever she is making is nearly complete, waiting only for the wax to dry. As it does, she looks toward Hadama with her head tilted in the angle of a question, a wordless expectation for his insights on the other items.
Then she rests the leg on a shell, retrieving the candle again to fasten the two together with wax. There are two sets of two shells, with four legs attached to each, somewhat resembling the whiskers of a sea lion. She then sets the length of sea grass over them, like the bridge of the pinniped’s nose.
Meanwhile she answers, “Much as the shells welcome the sailors to land, the kelp welcomes swimmers to water. But they obscure the ocean’s depths, protecting it from that which would peer in. Seagrass is... the boundary.” She speaks at a distance, as one reciting a memory. And perhaps not an entirely pleasant one. “The driftwood represents new beginnings, as the husk of an old self wanders the shore in search of a new one.”
The latter is tucked away in her burlap pouch, along with the crab’s legless carapace. It seems whatever she is making is nearly complete, waiting only for the wax to dry. As it does, she looks toward Hadama with her head tilted in the angle of a question, a wordless expectation for his insights on the other items.
