She’s one for romping. Cinder is a bit smaller than the rest she’d met, the rest she’d been born into, the rest that happen to be her siblings and her family, even at this age. It doesn’t matter. Cinder has brothers. She can hold her own. The little spark moves in such a way that says it, written all over-- I am Cinder, hear me roar! Something like that. Something beautiful and wild and maybe a little silly, because that was the way the little girl had happened to be. Something strange. The grey creature, looking like she’d been powdered with soot, liked this romping thing. It suited her. It suited her well, especially as a child who was growing into herself. As she was, Cinder had fun.
That’s how she’d gotten separated from them. Not like it was a big deal in the mind of the youngling. They’d come for her eventually. They’d track her scent-- her people were excellent trackers. They’d come for her. They’d find her. Everything would happen in good time, so Cinder had now for fun. Fun was the best part of it all, anyway. They’d find her when they wanted her. They’d come when they wanted her. She was already fierce and independent, so she’d keep wandering. A little spark to light up her face, Cinder was merry and bright today. That was the best part of all.
A chill hangs in the air, along with fluffy flakes of snow that seem suspended where Cinder can catch them on her tongue and in her eyelashes. She chases them as they fall lazily, barking and wagging her fluffy tail. It’s glorious. Snow flies in all directions around her paws, and she moves toward the river itself. Cinder knows enough to keep a safe distance from it, as falling through the ice was dangerous-- mom warned her all the time. It was wonderful, though, to play around the water that flowed too quickly to freeze over. She’s having a good day. That was all that mattered.
cinder
she wears trouble like a crown |