paint it black; any

[Nayl]

She spun the stars on her fingernails Frigid temperatures and frozen kisses curl around Nayl’s slender body. Her natural adaptation to the climate change has been sluggish, but her coat has finally thickened and her skin toughened. In these past few months she has bid farewell to the Jungle’s humidity and the thin, sleek coat that had been bred for the kingdom’s weather. It wasn’t easy to be tossed into the world, the brisk autumn, with a coat that was forged for tropical temperatures. It tested her adaptability and hardiness and toyed with her necessity to survive and flourish. Nothing would – could – stop her from rising from Beqanna’s ashes stronger and more adept. Plumes of hot air coil from her nostrils with each long, relaxed exhalation. Her autumn eyes blink as snowflakes drift down onto her lashes while the meadow turns into a winter paradise. Everything is white – the ground, the groaning trees, the horses – and she tries to calmly digest the sight for the first time in her life. The Jungle never had this and she never strayed from its warmth during the winter months. Despite her years on this earth she has never before experienced snow. She looks longingly at those better adapted such as the obsidian male trampling through the raised piles of powdery snow. Ice clings to his feathering and dances like chimes when he heavily trudges along. He is shaggy, armored in a coat that dares the wintry frost to sink into. From afar Nayl watches until he perches himself near her with his hooded eyes cast out. ”You look like you were built for the season,” a wry grin tampers with the tightness of her lips, her gaze slightly softened beneath her forelock. ”The name is Nayl,” an unexpected shudder runs down the length of her spine, ”and you?” Her head turns just enough to look at him, but her body remains unyielding. Nayl covet and myrina's creation