But who prays for Satan?
Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the
Common humanity to pray for the
One sinner who needed it most?
Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the
Common humanity to pray for the
One sinner who needed it most?
”Umbra…!”
The indignant cry pierced through the afternoon air, loud enough to be heard over the crashing waves of the ocean lapping against the beach. The two were the only figures to be seen upon the sandy shoreline for yards; a petite, dusk colored lady with her black iridescent Pygmy dragon, staring forlornly at the pile of seashells that had tumbled out of the bottom of a now-broken grass basket.
The iridescent black dragon gave a shrug of his slender shoulders, brows furrowed as he stared down at their predicament. ’Twasn’t me.’
Runaveig sighed. The two had been out upon the beach since dawn with their basket in hand, collecting a varying amount of different types of seashells to possibly sell at the Market or weave into pretty jewelry to pass out during her performance later on that night. Of course, Runa knew that it had been an accident… Umbra wouldn’t purposefully rip a hole in the bottom of the basket with his sharp talons, but it still put them in quite the conundrum.
“How are we going to get these home now?” The dusk-colored lady asked her rhetorical question without actually expecting an answer. The basket was useless and she lacked the means to mend it, at least here on the beach, and they hadn’t brought a spare.
Umbra hopped up onto her shoulders and reached out to hold up the silk shawl wrapped around the Welara’s shoulders, grinning a broad, sharp-toothed smile. ’This?’
Golden eyes rolled and the Entertainer shook her head adamantly. “No!” A pause, then a moment of hesitation as she glanced sadly down at the pile of spilled seashells. “I mean, well…”
The shawl had been a gift. From who? Runa couldn’t remember, but that didn’t mean that she lacked understanding of how important the gift was… Yet it would be a terrible shame to leave their bounty here on the beach after spending all morning digging and unearthing these precious little treasures. Her expression pinched and lips starting to tremble at their miniscule misfortune, Runaveig let out a soft breath and relented.
“... Okay, okay, but only to carry them back home. Then they’re going into a new basket.”
@
