there is still the sun that shines,
and whispering rain in the evenings,
and blossoms and birds at the window
that greet one in the gentle mornings
and whispering rain in the evenings,
and blossoms and birds at the window
that greet one in the gentle mornings
Fiona had wandered past Tinea Swamp without realizing it. The ground had eventually grown more solid, drier, beneath her steps, the air less damp and quieter, less of a buzz filling her ears. When was the last time she had left Terrastella? Though, Amare Creek was hardly that far outside the borders of her home. This forest was brighter, more light filtering through the autumn trees. A shy covering of fallen leaves was on the ground, although most still clung to their branches, displaying their fiery radiance in the late afternoon light.
In the distance, the lavender girl could hear the babbling of the creek as it fed through the trees and she made her way toward it, steps light and quiet on the grass. Her bright eyes took in the sunlight through the leaves, dappling the forest floor and she was suddenly struck by the urge to draw. Unfortunately, Fiona had anticipated walking this far when she had simply gotten lost in her thoughts while searching the swamp for late blooming orchids. She did not have her drawing pages with her, but she thought she could make due with her notepad in a pinch.
Once she arrived at the creek Fiona dropped carefully to the ground and allowed herself to get comfortable in a patch of light. The gentle sound of the rushing water was tender, serene, and she pulled out her notepad and pencil, flipping past used pages toward the end where she kept sketches and pressed flowers. Then, she began to draw. The pencil slipped over the paper, creating flowing strokes and sharper, contrasting angles—the lilac painted girl became lost in the littlest movements and details as they came to life on the page—and the tranquility cradled her imagination.
In the distance, the lavender girl could hear the babbling of the creek as it fed through the trees and she made her way toward it, steps light and quiet on the grass. Her bright eyes took in the sunlight through the leaves, dappling the forest floor and she was suddenly struck by the urge to draw. Unfortunately, Fiona had anticipated walking this far when she had simply gotten lost in her thoughts while searching the swamp for late blooming orchids. She did not have her drawing pages with her, but she thought she could make due with her notepad in a pinch.
Once she arrived at the creek Fiona dropped carefully to the ground and allowed herself to get comfortable in a patch of light. The gentle sound of the rushing water was tender, serene, and she pulled out her notepad and pencil, flipping past used pages toward the end where she kept sketches and pressed flowers. Then, she began to draw. The pencil slipped over the paper, creating flowing strokes and sharper, contrasting angles—the lilac painted girl became lost in the littlest movements and details as they came to life on the page—and the tranquility cradled her imagination.
@Raum c:
