She was used to the ceiling of the wagon-carriage-thing that belonged to Boddynock, it was her home currently, and since a while ago. Tiny, as any wagon is in comparison to a house, but cozy, interesting. Its wooden pieces criss-crossed in pretty geometric designs that in her hours right after or before sleep, shifted and twisted.
Sometimes, she combined that which she learned from the places they visited with the visions of the ceiling, and the small drawings she made became animated, alive in her half-asleep mind. There in the up-left corner, the dragonfly-riding sprites, down, the wine-loving farmers of south Galia. And wherever darkness was too deep, the bearded faces of her nightmares.
That ceiling, the outer heaven of her inner thoughts, and the gnome who guided the wagon-carriage, her guardian angel.
For: https://steemit.com/freewrite/@mariannewest/day-513-5-minute-freewrite-sunday-prompt-ceiling