She is restless. For the first time in her life she finds herself discontent with the simple thoughts of birds and mice - the rustling of the forest floor or the whisper of wind through jagged tree tops. A forest had been her home since she was born. It was deep and dark and utterly secluded save for the mighty stag and the humble worm. There were no others like her except for her beautiful, golden mother. But when Osyva had lead her to the Brilliant Pampas, something was set alight in her chest - something she did not recognize, nevertheless could not shake.
She cannot keep her legs from wandering - tracing the twists and turns of a small creek as if she were painting it herself. She admires the silver minnows that flash and dart from her shadow as she carefully picks her way along the edge.
She wonders where the water leads. Does it spill off of the horizon into oblivion? Perhaps for now it ends where a young, dark stranger stands. No sooner than her eyes had stumbled upon his painted legs (traced the gold markings to his lips) did she abandon her adventure for another.
He greets her so warmly that she cannot help the smile that tugs at the corners of her shadowed lips.
"I am Odelia." she returns, her voice not unlike the quiet babble of the stream they stand by. “What brings you to the Pampas?” she asks, trying her best to stay out of his mind (trying her best to control the noise).