Post by rhyannon on Jan 26, 2006 19:32:05 GMT -5
The fresh blanket of snow on the ground would have been lovely to most anyone strolling through the Nymph Woods that late morning. The blanket wasn't disturbed, overlooking the small bird tracks hopping, barely making an imprint. But Rhyannon, perched high up on her tree, awoke in a foul mood.
She glared at the snow below her, dusting herself from the flakes that had fallen on her in the night. Her muscles beneath her bare skin ached as she moved into a sitting position. She stared out over the branch, the end of which did not bare the beautiful leaves that grew so lush in the summertime. She huffed out loud, leaning her palms on the branch and pressing her cheek on the bark, angry at the winter. It was so ugly. It held none of the magic that the summer months did, and on top of that, it was a murderer. It twisted those leaves she had poured over all summer, and changed them grotesque colors before wrenching them off completely. It was murder.
She slowly slid down several branches so she was closer to the ground. Her dark hair, usually shades lighter in August, swung around her bare body. She pressed her fingertips to the trunk of her tree, feeling it stir beneath the bark. She felt it's anger at the winter as well, and was somewhat comforted by it.
The Dryad sighed and stretched out on the limb, eyes wandering lazily over the white. The school that the Windwaltz man had reopened was not far away, but she hadn't seen a scarce single student for the month or so that it had been open. She tucked a hand under her chin, wondering what was taking them so long. Student tended to come running, expecting to see fairies and pixies and - well, she frankly had a bit of fun playing with them.
She glared at the snow below her, dusting herself from the flakes that had fallen on her in the night. Her muscles beneath her bare skin ached as she moved into a sitting position. She stared out over the branch, the end of which did not bare the beautiful leaves that grew so lush in the summertime. She huffed out loud, leaning her palms on the branch and pressing her cheek on the bark, angry at the winter. It was so ugly. It held none of the magic that the summer months did, and on top of that, it was a murderer. It twisted those leaves she had poured over all summer, and changed them grotesque colors before wrenching them off completely. It was murder.
She slowly slid down several branches so she was closer to the ground. Her dark hair, usually shades lighter in August, swung around her bare body. She pressed her fingertips to the trunk of her tree, feeling it stir beneath the bark. She felt it's anger at the winter as well, and was somewhat comforted by it.
The Dryad sighed and stretched out on the limb, eyes wandering lazily over the white. The school that the Windwaltz man had reopened was not far away, but she hadn't seen a scarce single student for the month or so that it had been open. She tucked a hand under her chin, wondering what was taking them so long. Student tended to come running, expecting to see fairies and pixies and - well, she frankly had a bit of fun playing with them.