Mar 08 2016, 07:09 PM
(Anyone who wants a trinket made for them, stop on by!)
He'd been in Pisces for a while now, comfortable with his Mama and his new family to keep him company. Nothing was bad here, nobody looked down on him or sneered at him or called him useless (He still felt useless, but that was besides the point). But in his little walks around the lake and the waterfall and the hills and all the neat little crevices, he's picked up things. Long grasses, little pieces of wood, a sharp bit of metal, flowers and beads, among other things, all sat in a big messy pile in front of him. He didn't find anything to make those hand-wraps he had envisioned so long ago, but that was okay. When he was strong enough (or brave enough to wander away from what he now considered home), he would go and find those things.
For now, he sat next to the little ponds with the many silvered fish, wondering idly if they'd let him take some scales to make things with, or if he could dive down deep enough to go fishing for some. Could the fish talk? It would be interesting to set up a rapport with them, but if imagined that if breathing air was uncomfortable, then they wouldn't want to speak with him anyway.
He didn't really blame them.
He huffed a little and looked to his little treasure trove and picked up some grasses and some flowers, humming to himself. He wove it carefully, losing himself in the making of it, making it strong and tasteful, with little white flowers crowning the purple ones in the center. He held it and gazed at it, smiling to himself. Yarrow thought it was rather pretty.
He'd been in Pisces for a while now, comfortable with his Mama and his new family to keep him company. Nothing was bad here, nobody looked down on him or sneered at him or called him useless (He still felt useless, but that was besides the point). But in his little walks around the lake and the waterfall and the hills and all the neat little crevices, he's picked up things. Long grasses, little pieces of wood, a sharp bit of metal, flowers and beads, among other things, all sat in a big messy pile in front of him. He didn't find anything to make those hand-wraps he had envisioned so long ago, but that was okay. When he was strong enough (or brave enough to wander away from what he now considered home), he would go and find those things.
For now, he sat next to the little ponds with the many silvered fish, wondering idly if they'd let him take some scales to make things with, or if he could dive down deep enough to go fishing for some. Could the fish talk? It would be interesting to set up a rapport with them, but if imagined that if breathing air was uncomfortable, then they wouldn't want to speak with him anyway.
He didn't really blame them.
He huffed a little and looked to his little treasure trove and picked up some grasses and some flowers, humming to himself. He wove it carefully, losing himself in the making of it, making it strong and tasteful, with little white flowers crowning the purple ones in the center. He held it and gazed at it, smiling to himself. Yarrow thought it was rather pretty.