Art

"That's not how you hold a brush!" protested Axe, seeing that my hand position was far from correct.

"Don't press it," he babbled naggingly.

He didn't know. I deliberately looked wrong in his eyes, and-jackpot! I was right. Axe seemed to be well-versed in the basic techniques of drawing or painting. I could tell that the old drawing was indeed his. I also remembered that Axe was very afraid of birds. The drawing I saw and Axe's fear of birds were clearly connected. There was no mistaking it, Axe was a little boy who expressed his sadness into a work of art. But why? Was he unhappy while living with uncle Danial?

No way! Uncle Danial himself told me that he loved Axe like his own son.

"No. Not like that, baby girl."

I jumped as Axe took my hand to instruct me on how to spread color onto the canvas.

"Are you daydreaming?" he asked right next to my ear.

"N-no. I'm not daydreaming. You startled me by suddenly holding my hand."

I breathed a sigh of relief