03-10-2022, 07:53 PM
open hand or closed fist would be fine
--rosemary
the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine
Winter has settled well over Beqanna. Blankets and drifts of snow cover near everything that the weather can reach, oftentimes giving the Common Lands an almost idyllic appearance. It doesn’t snow now—at least not yet; instead, the sun shines brightly (almost blindingly) over the pale landscape. Tracks plowed in the depths of the ivory flakes are currently the only sign of life in the Meadow, save for the twittering of birds miffed by the endless low temperatures.
Rosemary walks quietly through paths tread well before her, hot air blowing in and out of her nose. She had spent the morning watching the sunrise, aquamarine eyes reflecting the brilliance of a cruel winter dawn. The sun, still low in the sky, illuminates the shimmering peacock hues blending across her body. The stars splashed across her face sparkle as if she might actually wear the night sky. There’s a buzzing yet content air about her, a mostly hidden energy to be released once she finds what she is looking for.
For now, she is as serene as the morning she experiences, humming her siren song low enough to keep other’s from hearing it. Simply enjoying herself and the seemingly endless day awaiting her.
It is not Reave’s bone armor, nor his vibrant chestnut, nor his confident air that draws Rosemary to him. She spots it the second her eyes lay on him: a brilliant yet dark aura, mists of gray shimmering with rainbows of color, like an oil-slick ocean. She blinks at first, basking in the opportunity before her; then she pushes into a lazy canter, nickering a greeting once she draws closer.
“Fine morning,” Rose purrs, settling to an eager, restless stop. “What brought you out to enjoy it?”
Rosemary walks quietly through paths tread well before her, hot air blowing in and out of her nose. She had spent the morning watching the sunrise, aquamarine eyes reflecting the brilliance of a cruel winter dawn. The sun, still low in the sky, illuminates the shimmering peacock hues blending across her body. The stars splashed across her face sparkle as if she might actually wear the night sky. There’s a buzzing yet content air about her, a mostly hidden energy to be released once she finds what she is looking for.
For now, she is as serene as the morning she experiences, humming her siren song low enough to keep other’s from hearing it. Simply enjoying herself and the seemingly endless day awaiting her.
It is not Reave’s bone armor, nor his vibrant chestnut, nor his confident air that draws Rosemary to him. She spots it the second her eyes lay on him: a brilliant yet dark aura, mists of gray shimmering with rainbows of color, like an oil-slick ocean. She blinks at first, basking in the opportunity before her; then she pushes into a lazy canter, nickering a greeting once she draws closer.
“Fine morning,” Rose purrs, settling to an eager, restless stop. “What brought you out to enjoy it?”
