FATED TO PRETEND / decorating sails

[Keona.]

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keona sibéal ní faoláin.
the typhoon.
privateer.
information.

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[div style="width: 360px; font-family: palatino; color: #5c90d0; text-align: left; padding-top: 15px; padding-left: 10px; letter-spacing: 3px;"]✯ — Tá mé i dtiúin

Sails.  Sailing.  Honestly? One of Keona's true loves.  The wind through her fur.  Salt on the breeze.  Born on a ship in the ocean, the tiny faerie hardly feared the rocking of a boat.  Even if there was little for her to help with.

Good intuition perhaps.  A keen nose for storms.  The one fear of the ocean.  The clap of thunder. 

Decorating.  Taste of paint in the air.  Petite paws carried the Privateer forward, ears perked at the sound of her name.  Her father.  She followed the sound on instinct, pale hues flickering.  A nervous flame. 

Painting, she lacked enthusiasm for.  Keona doubted it would surprise anyone to know.  Even if she could paint something fairly decently, she couldn't see it.  She preferred working with her paws when it came to the arts.  Sandcastles.  She could tell then, feel, the shapes and patterns and crevices.  Know it was good.

But her father wanted her.  She shifted back into a sitting position close to the pinned sail.  Her tail twitching.  Eyes attempting to 'locate' her father.  Be attentive.  "What do'ya want me to do?" Soft and curious.  Not unhappy but not entirely understanding why he'd seek her help in decorating a sail.

And her sail... How would she go about that one?

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© MADI