When mother tells her not to do something, she does the exact opposite. Sochi has her limitations, even if they are few and far between—Villanelle knows that sneaking away from Loess is one of them. The mischievous grin that curves the filly’s lips as she quietly trails from her parents’ dragon den is deceivingly sweet. The elegant sculpt of her blue and black head makes her look like a fallen angel, deceptive but in that fabled way that makes one forget she is so.
That sneaky grin only widens when the scent of the Loessian border fades into the strong scent of the Forest.
The trunks of the trees are tight and damp as Nell weaves between. Exhilaration floods her chest when the supple leaves of low hanging branches brush against her sides. Various ferns and creeping vines tickle her legs and trip at her hooves. Her sharp eyes catch each scampering shrew and startled bird as they whisk away from her (perhaps these predatory behaviors she has learned from her father will harm her in the future . . . but as a child she lets them run wild).
The Forest passes quickly—quicker than the girl would like, but the Meadow and the promise of the Playground offers new adventures. Her long, gangly legs trot purposefully over colorful wildflowers and tall yellow grass.
Villanelle falls into a sort of haze as she travels, only coming out it when the startling buzz of a watchful fae passes her left ear. She comes to a halt, silver eyes settling on the fairies above and then suddenly on the retreating body of another filly.
“Hey!” she yells, voice commanding and deep. She canters after Lovewell as she spins in a circle. “What are you doing? Are you going somewhere?”