until the mourning

[aine.]

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AINE NÍ BROIN
FLESHWEAVER
FAE DRUID
INFORMATION

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[div style="width: 360px; font-family: palatino; color: #2e8b57; text-align: left; padding-top: 15px; padding-left: 10px"]I'LL C[color=#36829c]OME BACK WHEN YOU CALL ME

In the open fields beyond the desert, life flourished.  She knew somewhere a stream bubbled, flowing beneath a willow.  If she looked.  The place she made her first friend outside the Pitt.  If she looked.

Instead, the petite deer-fox lingered among the grass and the flowers.  The colors around had begun to fade.  Autumn's gentle, but crisp air slowly encouraging life to sleep.  Prepare for winter.

She needed some time in the open air, beneath a sun that didn't destroy the land beneath.  Idlily, she gently encouraged some flowers to grow beneath her hooves.  Softly, her hazel hues watched them grow.  Yellow buttercups.  White daisies.

Her wings shuffled against her sides, ears perking at a nearby sound of movement.  Though her lungs constricted, she remained seated, counting her breaths and adding more flowers to her small patch.  Recent rumors spoke of friendly wanderers.  Not danger.

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© MADI