The nursery was a strange place, though no stranger than the other meager locations the little witch had seen previous. She was tired and beginning to bed down. Whether for a mere nap or a longer rest, she did not know, but Hazel was ready to collapse. Her broom was placed delicately against the upper frame of her bed, beside the pillows propped on the headrest, with her hat tucked atop the broom handle, and her shoes neatly together on the floor beside the broom and the next bed.
Hazel, herself, was seated at the bed's edge and had not yet undone the comforter and blankets to make room for herself. Instead, her fingers wove through her hair and took care to undo several clips. A bun with two braids on either side were being let down and, to an unknowing observer, she did not look ready for bed yet -- merely as though she were preening. The greenling hummed with a light voice, eyes closed and lips pulled to a calm smile as, slowly, long locks of pine colored hair flowed down her back. Her song, however simple, traveled through the small and sparse halls of the nursery and caught the attention of several sprites. Hazel paid them no mind, save for an occasional glance and smile.
