11-29-2021, 08:05 PM
Only one participant, please!
Swish, swoosh, swish.
Dangling listlessly from above, the yellowed strands of a crestfallen willow oscillate in tandem with gentle breezes. Shafts of sunlight penetrate with ease through the shedding foliage, illuminating the mustard strands in a brilliant, gilded glow. A lingering copse of cedar stands resilient against the afternoon’s chill, their virid tendrils standing in stark contrast to autumn’s warm touch. Flocks of hurried geese and duck fly onwards to less chilled destinations, their distant cries but a soft babble from the sky. The wolf lying beside the embankment of a vast lake, however, displays none of the hurried fervor that ensnares the instincts of the flocking avians. In fact, it appears entirely unbothered and serene, strewn languidly alongside a wilting batch of once vibrant flowers. The overhanging sun embellishes its darkened coat with a gilded sheen, lulling it into a contented slumber.
Welkin’s dreams were void of meaning, conveying only the simmering warmth which bubbled beneath her pebble-tinted ruffles. Her expression of customary annoyance instead conveyed something much more pleasant, the faintest of smiles baited by the pleasant sun. In the space which bordered between surreality and reality, Welkin listened, attentive, to the flickers of sound that ruptured through the silence. The chittering of a lonely wren and distinct slap of a beaver’s paddle-like tail were all contemplated until silence would regain itself. In this second, everything felt right and all Welkin could do was revel in the feeling, fleeting as she knew it would be. And indeed it was momentary, as a warbling and beautiful cry pealed from above.
The intimacy of the sound struck a profound chord in her chest, and as Welkin stirred in response the best she could do was allow the pang in her heart to subside for the moment.
Home.
She knew this sound well- by heart, and how could she not? She remembers brigading with Orenda through their elevated mountains, browsing through copses of pines to listen in awe to the heavenly sound.
All at once, she is flattened with both reverence and grief.
Hazel eyes bubble to the cusp with balmy tears, threatening to topple and spill at any moment. Stop it she hissed inwardly, recoiling against the soil to compress against the dirtied loam. Immediately her pristine ruffles were soaked, chilled to the marrow with a waterlogged weight. The shock did nothing but prolong her struggle as her ears pressed flat against her skull in defiance.
It all shattered as the bird warbled once again.
Welkin choked against the painful mass lodged in her throat, burying her visage within her soaked ruffles. Her diaphragm expanded and contracted in haphazard, jarring movements. She was utterly baffled- these emotions had been buried deep where they should never have shown face again. Banhar, Hlaorith, her brothers, even Orenda- they meant nothing. They are traitors to their own kind and Welkin has adapted to face these threats.
She had thought her methods to be effective against these sorts of emotions.
And yet here she was, weeping as dejectedly as the willows that caressed the space above her.
@Célnes
the staff team luvs u