Float figures

content/draft/001.md

@@ -20,6 +20,11 @@ She played because she *was* play. Play incarnate.
 
 And so Motes played. 
 
+<figure class="float right">
+<a href="/mp_01.png" target="_blank"><img src="/mp_01.png" alt="Motes sitting on a stool, painting"></a>
+<figcaption>Art by <a href="https://roots.works" target="_blank">B. Root</a></figcaption>
+</figure>
+
 She sat atop her stool, one of her feet perched up there with her so that she could rest her chin somewhere while she painted. A palette sat on an infinitely positionable nothing beside her. A canvas sat on an easel, rickety and well-loved, before her. A brush sat in her paw, and paint sat on the brush. A thin, black rectangle sat on that canvas, as did a mountainous landscape. Music sat in her ears, chirpy and glitchy to offset the serenity of the scene in a new way.
 
 She hummed. She sang. Her tail fwipped this way, flopped that in time with the music. She painted and painted and painted until the painting was finished — there was no guarantee of when that would be: the painting would be done when it was done, as it now was — and when it was finished, she stopped.