C i t y
She’s back here again. Back among the sea of deep green, the trees she just emerged from at her back and the world in front of her. Rolling hills morph into the Mountain in the distance, far into the distance. Mid-day brings a warm sun, but autumn brings a chilly breeze that tugs at her thick creamy hair. Her freckled coat bristles, it’s grown thicker in the last month or so in preparation for winter. She always grows a hefty, healthy coat for the snowy seasons and therefore prefers frigid mountainous, mostly northern regions.
She grazes for now, sticking to the tree-line and keeping her yellow golden eyes peeled for any movement in her immediate space. It is obvious she travels alone; it’s obvious she’s healthy, that she’s seen a few battles – the scars tell a story of a chaotic, violent past. Rusty stains outline each bright glass-eye and streak down each cheek. They weep fresh blood each new moon (not precise, but approximately), and her pale face bears the marks of former emotionless tears and forever will.
So as she has many times before this very moment, she waits with patience and a keen eye. A few wandered too close and she lets pinned ears, a snapping jaw, even the occasional screech let them know they are too close. She’ll choose who comes close, clearly.
Serious inquiries only.
in the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
