Duck Lake And the blisters on my lips

her speed, although on short legs, brought her forwards, drawing in until she was close enough to speak, and therefore she slowed. should the snowwoman be allowed, she would bring her nose to calfuray's cheek, greeting the dark lady and settling to sit nearby. conversation would flow from her lips with ease: how have you been?

eyes quickly flicked to where the wound had taken place. how is your leg?