Heron Lake Plateau et je la douce fleur

There was discord in the air, though just what it was she could not quite pin down. Yet the pallor of such near indescribable things had been cast and laid. Several times she had considered posing her own questions to whoever could lend an ear, but her mouth had stayed firmly shut, the words closed in a trap that no one could break. Somewhere, she had simply decided it best to wait and see what would happen, and hope that whatever tension heard and linging would sort itself out.

It was a lazy day, even for her. Warmer than it had been but damp, the earth had greened considerably and the flowers swung into full bloom. She could have been out gathering meaningless petals or whatever it was that little girls were meant to do; she could have been out to gather things for her mother to hone her own craft should the need arise. But Phoebe did none of these things, instead having resigned herself to a flowerbed in full sun, soaking up the warmth of the day.

She drifted, her mind hazy and eyes fighting sleep.