cold in the violence after the war
hope is a fire to keep us warm
She doesn’t know if Brinly would heed her whispered words. Doesn’t even know if she could. Still, what she’d learned of the Pangean’s seemed to all convey a general undercurrent of disorganization and lack of cohesion. As though their magical ruler would save them in the event their general dishabille caused them trouble. But if there is anything Brazen had learned from her mother, it is that magic only takes one so far.
Or at least, she hopes that’s the case. Unfortunately she couldn’t actually claim the innate foresight her mother seemed to possess.
Still, what Brazen lacks in that department, she makes up for in endless optimism and stubbornness. Those very traits are what had led her to this distant corner of the forest that met river and mountain. And it is those traits that keep her here, even as day fades into dusk and her legs grow restless with impatience.
Over the hours, a hapless tree that just happens to make a convenient scratching post has begun to lose its bark, and the ground within a Brazen-lengthed radius is rapidly worn into dirt as leaves and pine needles flee her restless feet. It isn’t until dawn is beginning to break the horizon she hears something that seems to be more than the nocturnal motions of forest creatures however.
Head snapping sharply up, her blue eyes strain to see in the dim, not-quite-morning light. Breath stilling in her lungs, she listens a moment, hardly daring to hope as she whispers, “Brinly?”
Brazen
@[Brinly]