She does not often stay in the confines of her home.
Even from a young age, she has found such things wonderfully mundane. She prefers to make her way to the common lands, to the other kingdoms, to the places in between. It’s there that she finds the things that lurk in the shadows. The things that coo and curl their finger—that draw her further into the belly of the beast. She finds the corpses and the brittle leaves. The bones and the marrow and the muck.
Today though, her delicate legs take her to the river. To the mud that rises up its sides, the water nearly frigid in the fading autumn. She is a pretty thing, but she has never been overly terse to the dirt and she gladly picks her way down the shore, feeling the way that it sticks to her thin legs, some of it splashing up to her belly. It’s colder than she had thought it would be, but she doesn’t let the discomfort show.
She would need to learn to deal with such things, she knows.
So she continues to make her way to the water, refusing to even shiver.
When she gets there, she lowers her head to drink, feeling the way her throat nearly refuse the water as it first touches her tongue. But she manages to drink and when she pulls back, there is satisfaction in having overcome such the smallest of discomforts. She swallows it down and then pulls back, listening to the gentle roar as the tides carry the water further and further, down to the ocean and beyond.
but in all chaos, there is calculation
@[lumineer]