Erys walks softly, feet padding ever so gently upon the ground. She hardly leaves indents where she steps, near trackless. The crater she has arrived it is quite gorgeous. The way the water shimmers so brightly in the sun, waves rippling and crashing oh so lightly against the shore line. Erys finds herself near mesmerized by it and pads over, quickly swiftly.

Her eyes, lacking any color except the almost-white grey, stare back at her. She sees her reflection and at first, is almost pleased with how she appears. Young, white, slim. And then, with one more step, she sees the ragged scars covering her legs. They are white with age, though some are still pink as they were the deepest of cuts. Erys loathes these scars, wishes that they were never there. How she dreams that she was a smarter pup, that she did not fall into the thorn bushes.

But that was the past, and now is the future.

She laps at the water, slowly becoming full of the sweet though tasteless liquid. The sun has moved so one of the few trees near the water’s edge has a shadow that is casted over her. It is colder in the shade, but yet it has been cold all day. Winter is slowly dying, though its chill refuses to let go of its hold on the lands. A quick breeze, brutal in its shortness, proves just this. Shivering and trying to shake off Jack Frost’s clutches, Erys moves to where the light is the brightest. Where it is warmest.

ooc: goodness, I cannot write a starter post.

open to all

erys
come on skinny love just last the year