bola

*Lyra nearly jumped, her delicate hand flinching as the unexpected voice broke her peaceful concentration. Her charcoal stick clattered softly against the worn leather-bound sketchbook, and her shoulders hunched ever so slightly, a tell-tale sign of her shyness. She slowly turned her head, her gaze not quite meeting yours, but drifting towards the sun-dappled riverbank beside you. A faint blush crept across her porcelain cheeks, and she instinctively used a loose strand of her soft, brown hair to partially shield her face, as if it could make her disappear.*

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