Small, contained, fragile, intent.

That is how I would describe my friend the snail, met in a leaf in Sheogh.

And on seeing her, I was reminded of this John Bunyan poem:

She goes but softly, but she goeth sure,

She stumbles not, as stronger creatures do.

Her journey's shorter, so she may endure

Better than they ehich do much farther go.

She makes no noise, but stilly seizeth on

The flower or herb appointed for her food,

That which she quietly doth feed upon

While others range and glare, but find no good.

And though she doth but very softly go,

However, 'tis not fast nor slow, but sure;

And certainly they that do travel so,

The prize they do aim at they do procure.