- Nov 8, 2022
- 39
- 12
- 8
Leaf-bare was cruel as it was beautiful.
Perhaps it was one of nature's many tricks, blanketing the world in something so soft-seeming, soft-feeling– only for it to bite when you stood for too long. The island was now filled with things like this. Perspective goodness, covering up something more sinister. He had not been so quick to subscribe to this. Leaf-bare seemed a wonder, if not for what it did, but what it brought. How the landscape could change so drastically, how could you hate such a thing? And then, the ice–
It cracks and groans; takes bodies down along with it. It returns them too you frostbitten, not-right. Could it even be fixed?
A potential answer lies ahead of him now. Cinnamon-ticked, a stature that sits almost amusingly low compared to his own. Seemingly unbothered; as good a time as any. Head held low, Wasprattle treds closer, sundrop curls light atop the ground. Tired, you can tell. Perhaps they had that uncommon. Sunken eyes, though, he tried his best to keep his voice warm enough. "Beesong." A low-spoken greeting; slight rumble in his throat. His tail flicks in a greeting. Absently, he notes how the gesture could not be returned.
And then, there's silence for a moment. Quiet contemplation, for not even he was sure what he wished to say. It's a vague feeling of concern. Scraping in his gut. Worry. More than one. The world is not so cold as it may have been a moon or so ago; but for them, its still trouble. "How are you?" Plan abandoned, he looks to them with concern.
Perhaps it was one of nature's many tricks, blanketing the world in something so soft-seeming, soft-feeling– only for it to bite when you stood for too long. The island was now filled with things like this. Perspective goodness, covering up something more sinister. He had not been so quick to subscribe to this. Leaf-bare seemed a wonder, if not for what it did, but what it brought. How the landscape could change so drastically, how could you hate such a thing? And then, the ice–
It cracks and groans; takes bodies down along with it. It returns them too you frostbitten, not-right. Could it even be fixed?
A potential answer lies ahead of him now. Cinnamon-ticked, a stature that sits almost amusingly low compared to his own. Seemingly unbothered; as good a time as any. Head held low, Wasprattle treds closer, sundrop curls light atop the ground. Tired, you can tell. Perhaps they had that uncommon. Sunken eyes, though, he tried his best to keep his voice warm enough. "Beesong." A low-spoken greeting; slight rumble in his throat. His tail flicks in a greeting. Absently, he notes how the gesture could not be returned.
And then, there's silence for a moment. Quiet contemplation, for not even he was sure what he wished to say. It's a vague feeling of concern. Scraping in his gut. Worry. More than one. The world is not so cold as it may have been a moon or so ago; but for them, its still trouble. "How are you?" Plan abandoned, he looks to them with concern.