Lena
hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
that perches in the soul
Sent off, Lena nodded, obliging the woman with the task at hand. Determined and steadfast as always, her brief journey brought her back to the Celestine, in pursuit of the rocky, mountainous enclosure that housed several injured rock sliders.
Hoping for a little luck on her side, the Caretaker began to look in the familiar nooks and crannies of the world extended before her: along crag and stone, amidst pebbles and boulders, amidst makeshift nests built amidst all sorts of creatures. At first, there was nothing at all, and she couldn’t blame the fauna – some were simply either too ill or wounded to be laying eggs.
Eventually though, along a patch of thicker grass obscuring the nest, she brushed aside long blades and scattered a few pebbles to find a clutch of eggs – camouflaged against the frame of brown and sienna. “Clever,” she whispered, snagging at one that was on the end and unlikely to hatch.
--
She must have looked a mess when she returned some time later, hair askew, dress stained with all sorts of dirt, but completely unbothered in the least by the notions. Opening the door, she found the crafter setting sealant upon the once-branch. Intrigued, and smiling, she announced her presence. “I have your egg,” carried and placed in her basket.
Hoping for a little luck on her side, the Caretaker began to look in the familiar nooks and crannies of the world extended before her: along crag and stone, amidst pebbles and boulders, amidst makeshift nests built amidst all sorts of creatures. At first, there was nothing at all, and she couldn’t blame the fauna – some were simply either too ill or wounded to be laying eggs.
Eventually though, along a patch of thicker grass obscuring the nest, she brushed aside long blades and scattered a few pebbles to find a clutch of eggs – camouflaged against the frame of brown and sienna. “Clever,” she whispered, snagging at one that was on the end and unlikely to hatch.
--
She must have looked a mess when she returned some time later, hair askew, dress stained with all sorts of dirt, but completely unbothered in the least by the notions. Opening the door, she found the crafter setting sealant upon the once-branch. Intrigued, and smiling, she announced her presence. “I have your egg,” carried and placed in her basket.
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all
and never stops at all