i will show you fear in a handful of dust -- any

[Snowphish]

every pearl is a lynx, is a girl
sweet like harmony made into flesh

She loves to wander moonlight, sometimes by flight sometimes down below. Tonight she soars silently among the cotton clouds, they are dim gray and the moon shines through them as they float aimlessly in the gentle sky current. Silver beams drown the stars, only a sea of black with weak flickering specks here and there framing the bright and swollen moon. It is a rare warm night, autumn is usually much colder, but the breezes from the north are still chilly and even more so up above. Perhaps it is time to land and pad around by foot through the thick forest below. After circling she spots mammoth stone ripping from the earth toward the heavens; around it is just bare moss and a circle of smaller boulders, the trees seem to have spread away from it ceremoniously. She descends gracefully upon the biggest stone’s peak and picks her way easily down its toothy slope until she’s on the moss-bed ground below. Her big pale wings shake and fold, shifting until they find a comfortable way to rest at her sides. 

The thick trees beside the heavily traveled road-way arch over a darkened path that appears to just fade into blackness. Her eyes will adjust, she tells herself this, and curiosity to see what is ahead far out-weighs her desire to see clearly. It is indeed slightly warmer and less windy down here, she notes. Her vision does shift to its more sensitive mode and it is easier to see the road ahead even without the moon’s bright illuminations. The only sounds are a pair of owls hooting in the distance and the periodic rustling of leaves in the soft pushes of mountain wind rolling in from the north, and of course her muffled footfall pattering against the earth.

“Oh my,” she gasps, almost stumbling over the child, she had been looking ahead and to the sides of her, but not below and his dusty colors make him blend into the twigs and leaf-litter. She instinctively touches the child, ever so gently, with her silk skin muzzle. Her warm breath bends his tiny hairs; she takes in his smell before withdrawing her nose from her tender prodding. She steps back, her head still lowered to his level. “Are you okay little one?” her voice is almost too quiet to be heard, but it is close to his ear, her tone purring to him like a mother cat.

@[Sakir] - let me know if you don't want to be tagged in the future <333