Where ice once gathered and clung to the fur of the creature now it melted, and the warmth of Spring set itself upon the world: through all the trees and all the winds. Gleaning with moisture the wetted fur was darker but not so much as to hide the patches of gray and spots of white tangled in the black… and the lengthy legs, dark and spidery, seemed to briefly vanish into shadows of trees and the briars tangled in the floor of the wood. Mutable in form she slithered through the gaps and passed from shrouds into others before brushing the thick coat against the harsh bark and feeling the sensation of scratches deep again the skin. Shivering, but not from the cold, the creature remained for a moment: its compact body shaped and molded with lean muscle and wiry definition beneath the skin. Shrunken at parts, hints of rib bones lingered beneath the flesh and the pointed edges of her hips carried a razor-like appearance that bore into the very mind at their shape.
Paused in place the creature lifted her head and the impossibly turquoise eyes seemed to peer through each corner and shadow… through each flat and clearing, and lazily she stared into the wild and unending primordium. Deep, and deeper yet the canopy grew heavy and the darkness seized the ground and all the air around it. Slow to move the first step was strained, weight shifting and bones cracking as the ancient creature lowered its neck and rolled the very shoulders back when it carried onward. Hips swaying and movements made in such a manner that they seemed robotic and lacking fluidity or grace, instead they seemed harsh and out place: as if the very sense of this was wrong and alien. She inhaled and a discordant sound of whimpering and rough breath accompanied her, the lungs swollen and bloated: water dripping from her lips. With the dark ears swirling the creature heard sounds: heard the fading calls of birds and movements of squirrel; but in the depth of the wood: there was nothing.
In her mind she recalled the hellish and fiendish whispers of another life, the pleas and cries; but Yidra, in all her impossible ways, only displaced the thoughts. Her body, again, pausing; but this time more permanently, and she stood in the shadows of trees and in the darkness of the canopy with drying fur and the scent of the ancient wood bearing itself upon her. Mouldy, loamy, and filled with strange things there was the smell of rotting wood and stagnant water, of dewy wildflowers, and the spicy hint of sage and other herbs tangles in the weeds. Clover and caraway, the faint recollection of things that prompted her head to shake. Black and inky, void of undertones, her lengthy mane and tail shook and snapped: the hair wavy and tattered. For a moment she remembered something, the biting feeling of stone and pressure: of flowers rooted in her own skin…
With lifeless black eyes the ancient thing, Yidhra, remained in this darkness: in this depthless and endless wood, and she slowly breathed, lacking water and choking.
Yidhra