And it hurt sometimes just to breath.
And sometimes it was effortless to make her lips curl into a small, sheepish smirk like she holds a secret. The memories of a past life are gone when they had once surfaced in the face of a stranger or the scent of a long passed silent summer. The lands seemed to have changed, Beqanna had stretched her arms far and dug her nails into the ground and hearts of the residents. She was not immune to the somber ache of a home that was long but not forgotten.
The pale woman drifts in like one of the snowflakes that settles against her skin. Her only contrast is the brown mask that spills like vibrant cherrywood stain over her eyes and ears. There were so many types of beings here now. Some bright green, others are an oily black sheen. There are wings and fire and glowing eyes. Elk remains quiet and drifts along between them. Their bodies humming with life and streaming small little frosted clouds from their nostrils. She does not catch their eyes nor attempts to. The river called to her with a promise to ease the burn in her throat if she dared to near it's edge and break through the thin veil of ice that coyly sat upon the surface.
With the slow press of a porcelain hoof, the flood of cold, cold water surrounds her nail and awakens her dulled senses. The woman drops her head with eager lips parting to ingest the liquid. She can see them all, smell their skin with renewed preception as she lifts her head and ignored the small droplets of water that clung to her chin. Winter suddenly rushed into her lungs, cold and clean, clearing away the fog that had settled around her hazel eyes.
((no html, meh.))