The broken clock is a comfort

Ghita Marino · 05-23-2010, 01:05 AM

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X3 Not really - it's just the truth. And sorry for the long wait! CRAZY week. ><
Sorry for angst post. ><
Wc: 477

Nodding at her young teacher, the fae focused intently on following the directions, flying by pages and drawings her heart wished to drink up like a traveller in the desert who had just found water. A fews of the designs looked interesting enough, the features of her niece flying by unrecognized by the wounded aunt, causing unseen stress to rise in the Nanny sitting opposite her. Finally greeted by the pure sheen of an untouched canvas, turquoise optics swam in front of it, the mind wondering just how two objects that were so different and foreign could combine to create something as beautiful as what resided in the artist's book.

Responding to the words that streamed from Mati's mouth, Ghita turned her head to face her, focusing on the utensil in her hand. It was so small and fragile, it seemed - especially with the silver tip at the end... the magic that lay between the tip of the pencil and the paper seemed so beyond Ghita, letting uncertainty seep into her mind.

Even in searching for a distraction, Old Red came in to disrupt that. Not only had Ghita's leg been shattered by the collapsing barn; her confidence had suffered a matching blow. She was a huntress, through and through. Now that her future was threatened thanks to her wound, how much use could Ghita be to her pack? She was supposed to be the swift, strong one - to be foolish enough to run beneath a collapsing barn contradicted everything along those lines. How was she expected to succeed at something so new and foreign if her skills were faltering?

Taking in a shaky breath, her smile faded slightly, once again returning to the blank page Mati had indicated. In her uncertainty, the fae had turned back to study the pictures absently, not recognizing the figure that stood in the art. Letting out another sigh, Ghita studied the way Mati held the small twig of wood, uncertainty clearly painted on her face. Much like Sophia or Aro as they tried different hunting or fighting crouches, Ghita's arm rose too, trying to mimic the way Mati's hand was shaped in her own paw.

Encouraged by her mild success at creating something vaguely resembling what Mati had showed, Ghita leaned over, searching out for a pencil as her rib cage stretched, the strain obvious as the fae moved. Quickly, with the fire of independence beginning to spark once more, she gathered a pencil in her hand, moving beyond Mati's aid and quickly forced the pencil into her other hand, the one that still held the shape. It fit into her left hand, the one that felt most natural and steady for some reason. Once Ghita had secured the pencil in what she thought was the right position, she held it out for Mati to see. "How's this?"

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