For all her love of literature, the life of a storyteller is still not an easy one. There are days where her pen refuses to produce anything of worth and she ends up gazing out the window for hours on end. Or rather than daydreaming the light away, she'll see to other chores and tasks in hopes of giving her muse a rest, only to find herself in the same place when she sits herself down again. This is usually when frustration sets in; she can make short tales orally in practically no time at all, so why won't these blank pages fill themselves up? But rather than sit at home and stew over feelings of incompetence, Estelle pulls herself right up and prepares herself for an early evening out. Out where? Well, she usually figures that out as she goes.
Today she is left to wander where the universe takes her. She is conscious enough to steer clear of the larger city crowds, knowing that it will be hard to maneuver freely at this time of day. This leaves her turning towards Poinsettia Park in hopes that it will provide the breath of fresh air she needs. Eventually the quiet buzz of the city fades into the background and is replaced by the wind rustling through scattered trees and tall grass.
The lingering warmth of sunshine and the din of those enjoying their late afternoon successfully washes away all her writing woes. In fact, it might even be appropriate to say Estelle has found a bit of inspiration. She strolls with with a purposeful foot in front of the other now, two whole pages of her notebook swelling up with words as whimsical as the landscape itself. And there would've been more, if not for a crash and loud wailing that serve as a distraction.
It seems some kids had been carelessly playing with the standing metal dividers that, more typically, are used to bar anyone from stomping over newly planted flowers. One child is on the ground holding their arm close to their body, crying with pain that she immediately sympathizes with. Even after all this time Estelle is first and foremost concerned with the safety of those around her. It takes only a second for her to act.
"There, there. Don't cry," she coos with an understanding tone. Gentle hands pry the little boy's arm away from his body and his friends huddle around, shifting anxiously on their feet. Against the grand scheme of the sun set low in the sky, the light from First Aid is not all that extravagant but those in passing stop to watch as Estelle heals the shallow wound all the same. "See? All better!" Then, while reminding the kids that playing like that is dangerous and they need to be careful, most of what little of a crowd disperses and go back to what they were doing. There's one individual, however, that continues to watch her with what she thinks is a curious expression.
After waving goodbye to little ones, (of whom, run off in a way makes her worry) and rising back to her feet, Estelle turns her attention to the onlooker. A friendly smile overtakes her lips as she asks them, "Is there something I can help you with...?"
