fyn gula and so helin bid entrance to the stork and his companions into that place if she bound by the confines of a nutshell, she could still proclaim herself queen of infinite space. her world, her changing emotions. her threatened happiness.

to have friends is to possess a wealth where currency is paper tumbling in the wind.

"vous ne pouvez pas vous arreter ce qui est fait a' vous," (you cannot stop what
is being done to you.) the stork said, as he carefully bent down to allow the spider and praying mantis to exit. helin giggled to herself watching this unusual pair. the spider removed his pork pie hat and helin put it on her own head, lacking a hat rack in the writing cottage.

helin knew she couldn't stop what her father was doing. he had his own life and desires. yet, she worried it could lead to damage, to him losing all that he loved, including her. but she did feel there was something she could do about it.

"peut-etre pas mais. je puis le changer. que je puis esperer contre lui,"
(perhaps not. but i can change it. i can hope against it) helin said, spinning around, feeling a last surge of energy in her continued weakened state. it made her dizzy. the hat fit her perfect.

"il est a cette fin que nous sommes venus," (it is for this purpose we have come) the stork said. helin stopped abruptly, her blonde dreads swung across her cheeks and slid to a halt. she was both excited and scared at the same time. somehow she could sense that these visitors were demanding from her a sacrafice all be it in helping her father's drug addiction.

"faites ce que vous devez faire,"
(do what you must do) helin said. she pressed her fingers with slight pressure against her turquoise blue eyes and sighed deeply.

the stork was impressed with her willigness, even tough it wasn't the alacrity he thought he might observe. she was fifteen now, even though copello imprisoned her as ten.

"merci, mais d'abord vous devez faire quelque chose," (thank you, but first you must do something) the stork said, and he expertly opened a saddlebag attached to his side with his long beak.

helin was extremely intuitive, aren't all girls?
"doit-il faire avec du vieil le livre homme?"(does it have to do with the old man's book?) she asked, noticing he had removed a black bounded sketch book one usually turns into a journal of some sort.

"oui. l'avez-vous lu?" (yes. have you read it?) the stork asked. he was referring to the booklet the old man had found in the naples station, remember? the one about who you can relate to in the wizard of oz?

"assez de lui," (enough of it) helin said. the stork gave her the journal and she opened its crisp white pages. helin always loved to look through a new journal, all the blankness she knew would be her life captured in the breath of words, the thoughts of imagery, the drawings from the soul, the quotes that burned a fire within her, found papers pasted in that would link her as blood to blood with strangers outside of knowledge.

"savez-vous ce qui touchera le coeur de votre pere?" (do you know what will touch your father's heart?) the stork asked, and helin knew copello treasured the notes in the journals they shared in which she and he wrote to each other. she did hers in the evening and left them on the kitchen table. when he came down in the morning, he would find it there and then write his own. both of these correspondences would end with an
"i love you." always.

"oui. mais moi croissez trop faible pour le faire," (yes. but i grow too weak to do it) helin said and she plopped back down into the chair.

"je vois aiderai." (i will help you)
the stork said, and he took a crayon out of the saddlebag and held it in his beak.
what's it to you?
who go