City loved to switch back and forth between forms, and the more she does it, the more seamless it becomes. Her age slows her at everything and shapeshifting is no exception to the pattern of her decline. There is life in her yet, but things certainly do not look or work the same with her rickety old body.
The elderly jaguar dreams with her tail swaying over the massive branch. The chilly winter’s night not touching her beneath her thick pale fur (unlike the usual black or orange). She is snow white, grayish muzzle, and her pattern made of faded rusty red ̶ the same as her freckles, the remnants of her washed away bay color when she was young. She’s well above the average horses’ head, but not that hidden to anyone who might be seeking shelter from the frigid temperatures or sudden snowfall over the course of the night.
@[Jackel]
The night is a good time to lay in the trees and watch the world below. The unsuspecting occupants of her field of vision are always entertaining as the pale cat drifts in and out of sleep. Before the sun fell she climbed the big oak that spreads its arms far and wide by the rushing water. The tree’s limbs are fat and comfortable for a jaguar of her size, not huge by jaguar standards.
As night falls deeper she settles on a favorite branch and sprawls out. Her yellow eyes idly raking over any action below, nothing of real interest, and she lays her chin to the bark, her tail flicking as she falls into a light sleep. Her dreams are spun with the quest the faeries had given her ̶ it was getting a bit more pressing with her rapidly declining health. She sees the day, the day Padme was born, the day they told her she could be blessed with phoenix immortality if she could manage to find more information on the subject… It replays in different ways, in echoing colors and sounds, flashes of nonsense and pretty things in between memories.
The elderly jaguar dreams with her tail swaying over the massive branch. The chilly winter’s night not touching her beneath her thick pale fur (unlike the usual black or orange). She is snow white, grayish muzzle, and her pattern made of faded rusty red ̶ the same as her freckles, the remnants of her washed away bay color when she was young. She’s well above the average horses’ head, but not that hidden to anyone who might be seeking shelter from the frigid temperatures or sudden snowfall over the course of the night.
@[Jackel]
