04-22-2018, 05:04 PM
haze like a fever
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
Although she misses Tephra’s shores, Wishbone cannot deny the reckless beauty of Nerine’s landscape. Some days it is sunny and clear with white-washed cliffs and a peaceful ocean and other days it is brewing and seething with dramatic tides and intense winds. The worst of Nerine’s days have become Wishbone’s favorite.
She finds herself thriving under the low-hanging clouds and among the gray, raging sea. It energizes her in a way she can’t describe, perhaps because the careless abandonment of the weather suits her own wild personality. Wishbone is racing again, just as she had been the first time she came to Nerine, on the edge of the cliff-side. She dodges around the weaker fringes of the border, but otherwise her feet run so near to the edge one wrong step could send her careening into the frothing ocean below.
The mahogany girl slows when she spots a stranger in the distance. Although she hasn’t had much time to get to know the residents of Nerine, she’s familiar enough with them to recognize a foreigner. So her heels twist toward the figure in the distance. Wishbone approaches covered in a thin layer of sweat and salt-spray, smelling of rough winds and moist air. There’s a delirious smile on her face (one that could almost be frightening, but fits perfectly on her wild lips) as she comes to a halt.
“Welcome to Nerine.” She isn’t even a true Nerinian, yet pride for the kingdom still seeks out the edges of her heart. “I’m Wishbone.” The girl gives a quick toss of her forelock, forcing the dark strands of hair out of her amber eyes. She’s nearly two years old, sewn with slender curves and sinewy muscle and long legs. But her eyes shine with a recklessness that will last into her maturity (perhaps even into death) as she looks over the newcomer. “How can I help you?”
She finds herself thriving under the low-hanging clouds and among the gray, raging sea. It energizes her in a way she can’t describe, perhaps because the careless abandonment of the weather suits her own wild personality. Wishbone is racing again, just as she had been the first time she came to Nerine, on the edge of the cliff-side. She dodges around the weaker fringes of the border, but otherwise her feet run so near to the edge one wrong step could send her careening into the frothing ocean below.
The mahogany girl slows when she spots a stranger in the distance. Although she hasn’t had much time to get to know the residents of Nerine, she’s familiar enough with them to recognize a foreigner. So her heels twist toward the figure in the distance. Wishbone approaches covered in a thin layer of sweat and salt-spray, smelling of rough winds and moist air. There’s a delirious smile on her face (one that could almost be frightening, but fits perfectly on her wild lips) as she comes to a halt.
“Welcome to Nerine.” She isn’t even a true Nerinian, yet pride for the kingdom still seeks out the edges of her heart. “I’m Wishbone.” The girl gives a quick toss of her forelock, forcing the dark strands of hair out of her amber eyes. She’s nearly two years old, sewn with slender curves and sinewy muscle and long legs. But her eyes shine with a recklessness that will last into her maturity (perhaps even into death) as she looks over the newcomer. “How can I help you?”
@[Bristol]