“Don’t fear,” the fire mother cooed. Frost from the cold outside world had spread to your fingertips but, light flickering, she brought them back to life. Flower filling your bowl, she sang, “I’ll bring you warmth and fire, fervent but kinder.”
Flames lick an aquamarine steamroller, a concoction of fire and ice. Thumb-holds embellish either side, meant to aid in holding a hefty bowl.