anyone;

[Nayl]

She spun the stars on her fingernails Nayl stirs. Her body aches and she's exhausted for some reason. She has been asleep for a while now, but she had been in the Jungle. So why is she in the meadow now? Her autumn eyes blink slowly as she rises to her feet and shudders off the leaves that have scattered across her. A dream had taken her prisoner and she reflects back on it, confused. It seemed so real and yet so fictitious. Skeptical, Nayl looks to the gnarled oak tree standing above her. A steady stare is held, her mind cranking into gears that it hadn't before. The branch fidgets but she assumes it to be the wind as she releases any magical hold she may have had, doubting herself. It was just a dream, she tells herself, as she turns her head and casts her attention on the world as she knows it. There is no snow, no Grinch or Santa. There are trees as she has always known, and grass and horses. A slow smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as she inches forward. The crowds don't frighten her. She isn't reclusive like those who stay coddled to the treeline. She embraces the idea of company and conversation. With the wind at her back Nayl drops her head to graze as she mulls over the odd dreams she has had as of late. Nayl covet and myrina's creation