private SYMMETRICAL LINES // peonybreeze

Cottonsprig feels detached from her reality. Her father's grim scent writhes around her, his grin unrelenting in her mind - even as she strides through the moors she cannot get his hoarse voice to stop repeating in her mind. She left the medicine den soon after waking up, the discomfort in her midsection making her too-aware of just how round it's gotten. She had a plan - she's always had it, but pieces of her believed that she could somehow bypass the difficult parts and be happy again.

Parsley sits between her teeth, chervil with it, each damaged and dusted with debris, but workable still. The she-cat finds the lonerlands and her gaze looks out over it, attempting to parse out the windswept foliage from any meandering cats. Some loners and rogues are particularly nice - but she's not looking for any cat that will treat her with pity. She's looking for an old friend, one that owes her a favor (that she wishes she does not need to cash in on.) And perhaps by fate, she spies him.

"Peonybreeze," she calls out to him, dropping her herbs. There's swelling in her broken heart, a warmth to her chest that the chill of fear stomps out too quickly. Her tail twitches as he comes closer, and she cuts to the chase. She doesn't have time. "I need help."

@PEONYBREEZE