[private] the dark awaits us all around the corner

[hysperia]

can we stay a while and listen for heaven?

Curving a dainty path around the river’s largest bend, Hysperia breathes deeply and watches the fog of hot air billow in front of her face. She creates smoke with that air, twirling the permeable gray into tiny, battling birds. Their flights and attacks are epic and consuming until Hysperia stumbles over a particularly slick bed of shale. The birds disappear suddenly as the little mare bites back frustration.

It is early still in Beqanna’s winter, though the chill wields a sharp bite. The first snow lightly dusts the ground despite the late morning sun making its best effort to melt it. Hysperia has always preferred the challenge of the cold to the heat; so now she basks in the crisp air, skin rising with goose flesh from each shadow she passes through. That tight, clean feeling she loves pulls her skin and muscles taut.

This is as close to relaxed as Hysperia gets.

A believer in Ritual, Hysperia walks a well-worn path next to the water. Soon, she’ll branch off from the babbling water to weave a path toward the base of the Mountain. There, she will curse and curse the Gods for their uselessness, for making her so plain yet too prideful to ask for more.

But for now she is the image of peace and quiet, strolling leisurely over damp soil and rock.

hysperia

@Squirt