Lena
hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
that perches in the soul
The Caretaker wasn’t surprised to see her weapon immediately deflected – she’d expected it, given levels of experience. The reverberations in her hand surprised her though, and she nearly dropped the wooden blade. Tightening her grasp, she then glanced at her stance as Salt recommended, striving to ensure her legs were designated in proportion and correctly – with barely any time to glance up and see the palm coming towards her chest.
On only instinctual draws, the youth lifted her sword to block – intending for Salt’s hand to ricochet off the training implement, rather than her own form. “Was that all right?” Had it been something she was supposed to do?
On only instinctual draws, the youth lifted her sword to block – intending for Salt’s hand to ricochet off the training implement, rather than her own form. “Was that all right?” Had it been something she was supposed to do?
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all
and never stops at all
