09-12-2019, 08:53 AM
[align=center]blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly
It's fact no one pushed Keona into her somewhat closed attitude. Perhaps, being so small, so frail in form, with useless eyes, she locked herself up. She walled herself up. She grew determined to prove something. What? Strength? Independence? Everything and nothing. Keona wouldn't answer something too personal, without careful measurement. Not without consideration; the question itself, the answer, the relationship. She may be honest with herself, or as well as she can be, but not always with others.The facts. She's not helpless. Not nearly as much as one might think a feline the size of a leaf may be. Not anymore. And she's mastering her strengths, learning and curious. Eager to know, without giving away too much of her quiet, uneasy self. Self-conscious.
The privateer certainly grew in assuredness over the moons, yet the barebones of the fur pricking feeling... She doubted she'd live without. Maybe that was okay. It only grew strong in certain situations, when too many eyes fell upon her. The notion hardly existed in her mind, as she trotted across the shore, leaving tiny indents in the sand, shaped like four, little paws.
Quietly, she discovers Goldie. Alone. On the beach. Some of her crewmates, she'd found simply watching the shore. She often sat at the water's edge to listen herself, to feel, hear and smell the ocean's nearness. Consequently, her pale hues soon drifted in that direction. Her perked ears caught movement however. Goldie must be doing something.
So she listens. While sculpting sand castles became a habit in her youth, or tracing patterns into the sand, Keona knew next to little of painting aside from the sound. The slide of a brush against a canvas. The fae simply sits nearby, listening to both the ocean and the brush, content in a strange experience. For sharing the ocean's beauty, in different ways.