The capital was quiet this morning, yet would soon give away to a few meandering citizens - gaggles of faces moving about in the winter air with spritely smiles. Perhaps the promises of spring were placing an extra skip in their step, tempting them to move lighter, gayer, as if flurries themselves. Or maybe they were simply rising with sun, eager to get to work and prepare for the season to change. This convivial and bright community was one of the many reasons Thomasin would always be proud of her people. While others would argue that Denocte was a lonely creature who hid in the shadows, the lamb would - respectfully - argue otherwise. Denocte was a tapestry of unique and beautiful individuals woven into a colorful history of acceptance and culture.
The budding dryad would be spending her early hours traveling to Night Court from her humble adobe at the foot of the mountains. On her journey there, she'd occasionally pass someone she recognized and she'd offer them a warm smile or a respectful nod, but for the most part, she kept to herself. The wind would bite at her wooly skin, seeking the tender parts of her exposed face and doe-like ears to nip at.
With the sleep still in her eyes, she would notice a part in the sea of traveling commuters. Equines began to move out of the way for a pair of strangers - creatures that were new and foreign to Thomasin's overcast gaze. She heard the people gossip amongst themselves, but Thomasin chose not to indulge in their whispers. Yet, curiosity couldn't help but take her by the chin and fasten her stare to lady.
Could you imagine being so artful, such a masterpiece, that others would move out of the way simply to look at you?
A familiar pain echoed in the dusty mare's heart, as she too, would eventually follow suit and fold out of the pathway. Her eyes would fall to the snow-touched stone, a wall-flower now, content in where she belonged. Yet, she couldn't help by spy through her curtain of speckled lashes.
This woman moved like a feline; a striped wildcat, perhaps feral to all others, but beautiful to Thomasin. A warrior, suited in dark armor and cerulean silk, sauntering with an alien beast who she seemed acquainted with. A delicate pink nose would lift in the air, trying to profile the perfume of petrichor that weeps from the tiger-skinned amazon.
Perhaps if she were more stealthy, she would successfully be able to follow the pair without their awareness. But alas, Thomasin was naturally ungraceful in her movements - like a babe fresh out of the womb, knobby knees and too much hair getting in her way. She followed a few paces behind, curiosity eating at her, temporarily basking in what it must feel like to have audiences paving your arrival. Maybe she mistook fear as admiration, but either way, Thomasin envied it.
Who was this woman?
"talking."
tagged: @Antiope
