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03-19-2014, 09:09 PM
 She dipped into a graceful bow that suited a woman who posed an innocent appearance of perfect poetry. I smiled, grateful for her reverence and polite nature—she considered my words and did exactly as I hoped. The soil before our feet changed, cooled and stemmed out; each second it grew larger, more radiant. Leaves, unnaturally beautiful formed in the place of actually flora. Thorns and a brilliant rose slipped from the sloping crystal in a mimic of the actual plant it was replicated from.
“Beautiful,” I breathed, with hushed manner. Still smiling, my ears caught each word with understanding in the pains it took to make even the most simplest of objects, “Aye, all power must be nourished.” Crafting was an art of wonder and pure delight; a tool to be used for evil and good. Fina cooed softly, her eyes flickering curiously from the box and rose, back to our talented company. “Does it melt easily?” A shine of wonder lingered like a dull flame in the windows to my soul, earnestly I reached out, breathing warmth across the shimmering surface. The tips of whiskers brushed by. A gift such as this was proof that our little lady would suit the position of Mason—she had already had the inborn ability to craft and another power would likely come easier. Though, I hadn’t forgotten the lad who stepped forward during the meeting. According to his word the meadow stallion had stood as the previous owner of such title. “Would ye be satisfied to serve as our Mason? Master Crafter in the art of earth and ice? Our colours come alive when I collide with you
with you, with you
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