Common

she cut a woolly and small figure. winter had tightened it's grip on the land, and with it the fauna would adapt as they did every year. for ciardha, that meant the thickening and lengthening of her coat. much like others. the roaning of her coat was blanched beneath the wintry shag covering her body. snow pilled around her heels, and frost collected in the length of her forelock. her diminutive form carried itself well through the freshly draped snow, and in fact there came a jaunty step as she pushed forward through the meadow. her steps followed those who had walked ahead of her, their path cut deep into the drifts. she was without care, as she went, joyfully going along. she'd little care for the frigid pulse of the wind, cared naught for the way her breath's vapours collected back in her plush fleece or thickened locks. no, this was a time where she thrived. pushed further into survival-ism, ciardha was at the height of exuberance. the ocean lay at her back, though she knew going forward adventure awaited. she did nothing to spurn fate into neglecting her; no, instead she was boisterous: advertising her presence in a place she knew to be a well from which those like herself her drawn and collected.