Zia

“Want to see something cool?” Zia blurted out as Lyra opened the door, skipping over any sort of greeting.

“Oh, here we go again,” Lyra muttered under her breath. Knowing Zia, it was far more likely to be something disgusting than boring. “It had better not be a dead rat again,” she said aloud. Please don’t let it be a dead thing, she thought to herself.

Zia was a relatively new addition to their circle, having moved into the neighbourhood only a few months before. She brought her own brand of chaos, but in a way that was also oddly endearing. Even as the newcomer, Zia had fit right in, and the three of them were now practically inseparable.

Without further ado, Zia bustled past Lyra, down the hallway, and into the kitchen, barely stopping to take off her shoes. “Nice hair, Orin,” she said with a cheeky wink.

Orin’s hand moved towards his ruler. Lyra gave him the look again—Don’t even think about it.

“Thanks, Zia,” Orin replied dryly as he lowered his hand.

Before Zia could say another word, Eryx appeared in the doorway yet again.

“Well, if it isn’t the new gal,” Eryx said with a smirk. “Made any friends yet?”

Zia raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “If only I had your personality, Eryx.”

Lyra stifled a laugh. Orin couldn’t quite manage the same as he sputtered out a mouthful of apple he’d commandeered while Lyra was at the door.

The cogs were visibly turning in Eryx’s head as he tried to think of a comeback. “Whatever,” he muttered as he retreated back down the hallway in defeat.

Zia plopped into a chair and slung her overstuffed backpack onto the table. A faint rattling sound came from within as it landed with a dull thud. As always, it was stuffed with the most random of objects, bulging at odd angles.

Lyra leaned towards Orin with a mischievous smile. “Orin, Zia has something exciting to show us.”

“Oh,” Orin responded, leaning forward expectantly, “what is it, then? Some ancient treasure? A secret map? A time-travelling compass?”

Zia’s enthusiasm wavered as she scratched the back of her head, suddenly looking awkward. Oh no, she thought. I think I might’ve built this up a bit too much.

“Oh, uh… it’s not that big of a deal, really,” she mumbled, eyes darting to her bag as she began backpedalling. “Definitely nothing amazing. I mean… it’s not, like, better than a dead rat or anything.”

Orin raised an eyebrow. “Encouraging.”

Ignoring him, Zia leaned over her bag and began rifling through it. Papers crumpled, something metallic clattered, and Lyra thought she heard the faint squeak of something rubbery.

“Let’s see… nope, not that.” She pulled out a half-eaten sandwich, sniffed it, and shrugged before tossing it onto the table.

“Ew, Zia,” Lyra groaned.

“What? It’s just cheese.”

“Green cheese, Zia? Really?”

Orin looked on in disgust. “How do you even live like this?”

Zia dove back into her bag, emerging moments later with an odd sock, a set of dice, and what looked like a little log.

“I won’t ask,” said Lyra, as Zia glanced up from her bag briefly.

I’ve definitely built this up too much, Zia thought as she continued rummaging. It’s nowhere near as cool as that rusty spork I found last week. Spoon and fork at the same time. I mean… come on, man.

Her hand paused for a moment as she finally found what she was looking for. Oh, gosh. Am I about to bomb on stage here? She winced at the thought, then shook her head, determined to make the best of it—whatever “it” turned out to be.

I know! I’ll say “ta-da” when I pull it out. That’ll get ’em. Taking a deep breath, she psyched herself up. Okay, ready… 1, 2, 3…

“Ta-da!” Zia exclaimed, holding up her discovery with questionable enthusiasm.

Silence.

“Guys?”

More silence. The only sounds were the faint ticking of the clock on the wall and the occasional whoosh of cars passing outside.

“Guys… are you going to say something?” she asked, glancing back and forth between Lyra and Orin as she placed it on the kitchen table.

Yet more silence.

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad!” Zia protested, her voice rising slightly.

Still silence. Even Boris, lounging in the corner, stared at her with his mouth slightly open. Zia’s shoulders slumped in capitulation. “Tough crowd,” she muttered.

The mystery object was a small, stone tile—pale, whitish, and intricate. It was shaped like a hexagon and engraved with a perfect circle. Their silence was due to its splendour and mystery rather than disappointment.

Lyra finally broke her silent shock and leaned in. “Wh… where did you get that?”

“Found it in a place,” Zia said casually.

Orin frowned. “What kind of place?”

“The kind where you find cool stuff,” Zia replied, slightly relieved they now seemed interested. “What matters is that it’s here, and it’s… awesome?” Zia puffed out her chest as if she’d never doubted it for a second.

Orin’s gaze flicked to Lyra. “It looks like it fits…” he said.

“Fits? Fits what?” Zia asked, looking between them in confusion.

Lyra and Orin didn’t have to say anything else to each other. They knew. They both knew.

“Let’s go,” Lyra said as she snatched the tile from the table and headed for the door.

Task

Zia is not overly concerned with perfect circles or perfectly straight lines. Her shapes tend to stretch, curve and flow—and somehow, that often makes them more interesting.

Her shape would almost certainly be the oval.

Now it’s your turn.

On the next page, you’ll find a series of oval templates to trace. Some are tall and narrow. Some are wide and gentle. Trace over each one slowly and smoothly, keeping your hand relaxed and your line controlled.

As the guides begin to fade, the task becomes trickier. You’ll need to rely less on the template and more on your own control.

Then, in your sketchbook (or on a spare page), try drawing a few ovals of your own. Make some long, some tall, some small, and some wide.

Remember, not every shape has to be perfectly strict. Some shapes find their form through flow.