[open] it's me who's been making the bed

[Viszla]

Myrna suffocate the fire  i started-------------------- right when it kindles This time of year the flowers in her trail are less obvious, for the buttery yellow daffodils and purple crocuses bloom on the hills around her in addition to each place her hooves land and grow, twined about in the crown of branches and greenery she wears on her horned head. The symbol of her leadership is as delicate as her claim to it - she hopes each time there is movement on the horizon of her homeland it might be someone new, someone bold, someone who wouldn’t mind having daffodils and crocuses blossoming in their wake. Or whatever the flowers were that day, Myrna concedes. A few weeks ago they’d been hyacinths, and as she passes a late blooming bunch, she sees a cluster of the pure white flowers blossom into fullness just over her right brow. The royal garland of the Gates is wrapped around her opalescent horns, but does little to mute their ever present glow, a beacon of her presence. Myrna is not a creature that goes easily unseen, yet as she makes her way through the rolling hills of her homeland she does not expect to be spotted by anyone at all. The birds, perhaps, and the glowing rabbits that graze on the lush spring greenery might see her, but they return to their busy lives, and Myrna continues to wander.