Free Verse - Narrative, Beehive Color

The glow of the firelight painted the bruadarch's face a golden glow,
Not orange as a sky above a setting sun,
Not yellow as the middle of daisies,
no.
It was the joyous spirit of beehive yellow.
Ness was the dancer of fire and anams.
She stood next to the tall flickering flames, soaking in these moments of warmth
Protected by a simple frame,
But she knew no fire was tame.
That was why she studied it, night and day,
the dancing waving tips.
The music spoke in giddy skips,
Pulling her back to rhythm, to dancing as she once did.
Her location melted away,
She didn't think about the pale cloths wrapped around her wrists,
or the unfamiliar biting air.
The fire had painted her honey hues,
and she stepped lightly in tune.
She danced as she did before,
Only now it turned into something more.