yet our roots remain as one

[Wrynn]

Oh look, oh my star is fading

She'd know the way to their house no matter how many years she's been away. Her feet walk it almost automatically, and she whistles as she goes. It's a fine day for a walk, and good thing too – she's got neither a car nor money for a cab. Sure, she could've asked for help, and it's not that she would've objected to receiving it due to some streak of stubbornness or independence: she simply forgot. She's got better things to worry about - like the beauty of the sky, or the breeze in the trees - with all of that to consider, money simply slipped her mind.

Just like it slipped her mind that, perhaps, she ought to have dressed up a little bit. She's wearing her usual, and she looks like a cross between a flower child of the seventies, a gothling, and that crazy psychic that your aunt always talks about. Her hair is long and hangs relatively unstyled down to the middle of her back. It's streaked with grey, although it really shouldn't be considering her age. Around her head she wears a small string of daisies and marigolds, studded with the occasional dandelion. She had meant to get here earlier, but the flowers had just been so pretty along the way, she'd had to stop and pick them and make them into her little wreath.

Her clothes hang on her slim frame, a mix of gentle earth-tones. A loose white camisole covers her small chest and hangs down to mid-thigh. Over that hangs a tan crocheted sweater, worked in motifs of flowers and so open that it adds no warmth at all. And over that she wears a loose brown vest of corduroy, studded every so often with tiny flowers in the fabric. Around her neck hang a fairly excessive number of wooden beads, some strands adorned with crystal or amber, some strands wood alone. She likes the way they sound, like tiny little wooden bells. Her pants are ancient jeans, which fit her loosely and hang down to the floor.

She's almost surprised to find herself at the door when she does, and she blinks at it for a moment. She'd been lost in her thoughts, lost to daydreaming. It takes her a moment to snap back, but then she reaches up and grabs the ornate door knocker, driving it back against the door with a thud loud enough that it could surely be heard inside.

It only occurs to her after she's knocked, as she's standing there waiting for one of her parents to come to the door, that she probably could've used the doorbell.  

wrynn