02-22-2018, 07:15 PM
haze like a fever
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
The silver chalice of the first year of life will soon be within her grasp. She is still as a wild a thing as ever (perhaps will never cease to be, unless someone or something might come along and break her), evidenced by her adventuring through the farther corners of Beqanna. Warrick might’ve had a heart attack if he knew his beloved daughter were flouncing around among the River in the middle of the night.
But Wishbone enjoys the thrill. It’s a bitter night, in the midst of autumn, but the moon is bright above her head. The shine of the constellations catch on the tangled, wispy knots of her hair. She’s a beautiful mess — there are cuts and bruises along her knees and chest from climbing some impossibly steep cliff or another, her locks are tangled and filled with some assortment of leaves and pine-cone and bird-feather, there’s a decent amount of grime caking the backs of her heels that she hasn’t bothered washing off yet.
Although there should be, Wishbone feels no danger toward the nighttime world. She is weaving along the embankment of the River, ducking under low-hanging branches and splashing through shallows when thick undergrowth blocks her path. In fact, she doesn’t consider the possibility of someone else lingering around until the sound of a smooth voice and the depth of a growl reach her ears.
Wishbone twists toward the source of the sound, amber eyes sparkling with the reflections of a hundred stars glowing miles away. She’s a petite thing — wild and untamed with the background of the River and the looming presence of the shadows — with long legs and the gentle curve of growing hips. Wishbone doesn’t answer the voice’s question (the darkness seems thicker in some corners, but beside that she doesn’t see much else) as the timid thought that someone from Tephra might’ve followed her twirls through her mind.
Auburn strands dance against high cheekbones. “I thought I was alone.” Sable nostrils quiver as she attempts to scent the stranger. She catches the hint of horseflesh, but it is unfamiliar and clouded by the tang of the running water over her shoulder. “Do you plan on hiding in the darkness all night?” There’s laughter in Wishbone’s voice and her lips curl into a wild smile.
But Wishbone enjoys the thrill. It’s a bitter night, in the midst of autumn, but the moon is bright above her head. The shine of the constellations catch on the tangled, wispy knots of her hair. She’s a beautiful mess — there are cuts and bruises along her knees and chest from climbing some impossibly steep cliff or another, her locks are tangled and filled with some assortment of leaves and pine-cone and bird-feather, there’s a decent amount of grime caking the backs of her heels that she hasn’t bothered washing off yet.
Although there should be, Wishbone feels no danger toward the nighttime world. She is weaving along the embankment of the River, ducking under low-hanging branches and splashing through shallows when thick undergrowth blocks her path. In fact, she doesn’t consider the possibility of someone else lingering around until the sound of a smooth voice and the depth of a growl reach her ears.
Wishbone twists toward the source of the sound, amber eyes sparkling with the reflections of a hundred stars glowing miles away. She’s a petite thing — wild and untamed with the background of the River and the looming presence of the shadows — with long legs and the gentle curve of growing hips. Wishbone doesn’t answer the voice’s question (the darkness seems thicker in some corners, but beside that she doesn’t see much else) as the timid thought that someone from Tephra might’ve followed her twirls through her mind.
Auburn strands dance against high cheekbones. “I thought I was alone.” Sable nostrils quiver as she attempts to scent the stranger. She catches the hint of horseflesh, but it is unfamiliar and clouded by the tang of the running water over her shoulder. “Do you plan on hiding in the darkness all night?” There’s laughter in Wishbone’s voice and her lips curl into a wild smile.
@[Khaedrik]