wt [★] SET YOUR RULE

[Keona.]

[div style="width: 527px; line-height: 1.4; text-align: justify; font-family: palatino; font-size: 11px;"][align=center]blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly

A talent.  The petite privateer flicked her tail to and fro, pale hues dancing with thought.  What did she consider her talents in the first place?  On the warm sand she lingered, close enough for the waves to gently caress her tiny paws.  Salt on her tongue.  The barest traces of rain in the air, promising a storm despite the clear skies she could not see.  Weather-predicting?  No.  She may be decent at it, but she cared little for 'demonstrating' that 'talent'.

Regardless, the weather soothed her.  She looked forward to some rain.  Good time to read.  The fae made a mental note to request a new book from her uncle before the weather turned.  Reading is not entertaining to watch.  Not to mention it'd feel weird, inviting someone to watch her read.  Definitely not.  Another 'talent' off the list.

She could not swim.  Her climbing skills faltered once she reached a high enough point, scared and uncertain how high she is or how to get down.  Her physical combat skills failed against most opponents for she'd barely take any effort to simply step on.  Her mental abilities needed honing and her father was currently elsewhere, working behind the scenes in enemy territory.

Her da may have some suggestions, but she wanted to figure this out on her own.  A meaningful talent.  Eventually, the feline stood up, frowning lightly as she backed away from the waves.  Just far enough to begin.

Slowly, Keona traced her paws through the sand, slowly mapping out a small, base structure.  Determination fired in her eyes and methodically, she began construction.  Everything she did was based on touch; her paws moved over everything carefully with fierce analysis. 

A small fortress in the center.  Surrounding walls, carefully ridged.  A small opening in the place of doors.  Decorative seashells.  Keona chewed the inside of her cheek as she worked out every finishing touch, ears flicking in mild annoyance whenever her cousin's raven, Fiachra, hopped to close.  In exasperation, she build a small nest atop the fortress, double-checking the stability of the packed sand.  Fiachra seemed small enough to her.

The end result pleased her enough.  A sandcastle larger than her -- not surprising -- featuring an overly pleased raven atop the fortress.  Alright.

✯ — keona sibéal ó faoláin. female. privateer of the typhoon. blind. rusty spotted cat.  ref. bio.