Awaheya likes Ezra's hands. They are hard-working, careful, well-practiced, and strong. His fingers are deft and nimble, and can weave together flowers in the blink of an eye.
But mostly, Ezra's hands are gentle. They are gentle when they run through the fluff of little Joy's fur. They are gentle when they offer seeds to little creatures. They are gentle when he carefully turns the pages of his journal. They are gentle when he allows Awaheya, the raven, to perch upon them. They are gentle when they come to rest on Awaheya's shoulder in a comforting gesture, when the day has been trying and long, and the night terribly dark and full of voices. They are gentle when they press against Awaheya's back as Ezra hugs him, and he can feel their steady warmth permeate his cloak. They are gentle when they pluck sweet honeysuckle, and offer them to little Joy.
They are so gentle. They are kind, loving, nurturing, and soft. They are all these things, because they are Ezra Thompson.
YOU ARE READING
Little Blue Strings
General Fiction**COMPLETED** This is the story of Life, Death, a lonely human, and all those other names and faces that linger or are forgotten by time. It is a story of the violent and chaotic world, and the places in which, every now and then, everything is stil...
