BREATHE | painting

♛

Typically, the holidays brought some excitement.  Anticipation, fond smiles and secretive murmurs throughout a small family home -- it all belonged to the past now, replaced by ash and pain.  The black and red vulpine remained somewhat optimistic however, for he planned on giving Aine a good Christmas, but the absence of her mother and brother seemed to grow more and more tangible everyday.

Finding his treehouse vacant of decent decor, the faerie opted to find distraction in work using his paws.  Since art remained his most passionate hobby, Gael found no trouble discovering the enthusiasm to paint.  His target for the present became the exterior of his treehouse.  In typical mural fashion, the vulpine simply painted what came to mind.

Swirling strokes of wind, budding flowers and vines, familiar symbols such as the triskele and anwen, even splashes of flames and ash.  Golden eyes studied the remaining blank spaces silently, figuring that Aine may enjoy finishing the exterior of their home.

In the the meantime, he realized he may need to find some more water to wash all the paint off his fur.

"[color=#5c4c62]ISN'T IT LOVELY?" —-- gael ó broin / faerie / pittian / lamby

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AINE NÍ BROIN
PITTIAN / CROW
FAE DRUID
INFORMATION

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[div style="width: 360px; font-family: palatino; color: #2e8b57; text-align: left; padding-top: 15px; padding-left: 10px"]I'LL COME BACK WHEN YOU CALL ME

Memories of Christmas were vague.  The petite vixen hardly looked of age to have seen a Christmas, but she had.  Once.  Feelings of happiness belonged to the winter season.  Gifts.  Games.  A happy family.

Her family had grown smaller since last Christmas.  Just her and her da.  Slowly, the little druid began realizing her mother and brother may not be coming back.  That it really was just her and her da, who she adored completely, but it left her feeling sad.  Empty.

The pit in her stomach had grown lately.  The void.  The sense of everyone missing.  The melancholy bothered her.  What was she supposed to do about it?  Something, surely.  An ever-in-motion child, Aine despised the sense of listlessness.

When she spotted her father up in the treehouse, brightening the boring wood, the little fox paused.  Her hazel hues gleamed with an immediate spark.  Her da was painting.  She loved it when he painted.

Stumbling over her paws, Aine scrambled up the steps that wrapped around the tree's trunk.  "Da! Da! [abbr=can I help you?]Puis-je vous aider[/abbr]?"

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© MADI