Meadow

The tranquility of the meadow does not bring forth reminiscent homesickness nor flashbacks of another's travels for the lady slowly approaching, summoned forth by the slightest melody gliding upon the biting winter breeze. The chill of winter is a not a strange experience nor one forgotten, as the rolling hills and deep embankments covered in drifts were not uncommon within the land from which Bagheera hails. Oh, to feel the sun upon her blackened flesh - even the sting of it's prodding fingertips curiously probing at macabre silver scars would feel like heaven compared to this frozen wasteland. She misses the rolling emerald of fresh spring grass, the plethora of rainbow petals beginning to open upon fresh stems, and the sweet song from birds welcoming the beginnings of life back into the land. Perhaps the sun will one day warm this so far desolate land - but for her, as of late, this day is not great.

She twists her way through alabaster snow banks, her ebony skin screaming a stark contrast impossible to mute. Her movements are graceful, careful, similar to those of a large cat slinking it's way to a preordained location. She may appear confident in her journey, yet she does not know the path the walks. Petite ears swivel once more, searching for the echo of the call swept away upon the icy tendrils of winter. An exasperated sigh passes her lips, and she briefly halts to survey her surrounded with adept golden eyes. Finally they lock upon the one she seeks - She could at least have had the curtesy to stand out a little more.

A shake of her head and she moves closer, long forelock partially covering the delicate features of her face. Her approach complete, she comes to a termination of a journey began in a land far away. She surveys the lady before her, a quick glance with the hope of grasping at the vibes the silver girl emanates. Intent on trying to unravel the mystery behind why one would choose to stand out in the open in full exposure of the elements, she speaks. "Why do ye choose to let this dreary sludge and atrocious chilly draft nip at yer bones?" Her eyes convey her message with blatant curiosity as her Scottish lilt contributes a softening aspect to her question. She wonders because leaving oneself exposed, especially with the faulty sense of safety, most often will lead to dire circumstances. Aye, dire indeed.