[AW] And like the cat I have nine times to die;

[Florentine]

i'm a pretty flower girl
check out my pretty flower curls

The Fields were full, the Halcyon’s sweeping its every inch. They scoured around headstones and tombs. They picked over weeds and grasses grown into tangles to hide the earth beneath. There is no part of the grassland they were not surveying.  For a moment Florentine stands upon the treeline, surprised, merely watching. She wasn’t expecting Susurro to be so busy. When she awoke that morning, haggard and exhausted, she fed the children and then, by a quiet stroke of genius whispered lightly, “Daddy’s waiting for you in the bedroom, he has lots of fun plans for you today. Go find out!” And as the twins burst into the room where Lysander still slept, Florentine fled.
 
Susurro had been her destination, some quiet downtime her goal – yet.. the Halcyon Unit was out in force. The flower girl huffs softly, eyes watching the teeming meadow with burgeoning disappointment. Yet, her love, her connection with Terrastella and its people ran deep. It pressed itself into her soul as the crown was first pressed upon her head. She could not leave until she knew the cause of their urgency and anxiety.
 
She slips from the treeline, stepping out into the spring sun’s glow. Marisol stands bright and brilliant at its heart, a girl beside her, slim and lithe. Slowly Florentine approaches, she is nothing like them. These two are honed for fighting, for survival. Whilst Florentine has survive many things, only the dagger at her breast is any sign that she is sharper than the abundant flowers that grow, tangled in her mane.
 
One girl smells of dust and labour, the other sky and order and the last lavender and baby milk. Florentine knew who the less glamorous girl was and it was neither of the other two. Slowly she smiles, tiredness slipping away from the shadows of her face as she greets Marisol and the stranger. “I need more sleep.” Florentine chirps, knowing full well the question was not directed at her. The unease stirs in her belly yet she smiles on, “I was planning a snooze under that tree.” A wing extends, pointing to a particularly large gathering of Halycon Pilots, “Yet,” her nose crinkles, “I don’t think I am going to get it.” For a moment she peers longingly at her favourite tree before returning her gaze to the two.
 
Her humour slips from her like a veil pulled free in an unsettled wind. “Commander Marisol,” Her skull dips, honouring the soldier, “May I ask what is happening – is there anything we need to be concerned about?”
 
Switching her gaze briefly to the stranger Florentine smiles, “I am Flora by the way. Are you from Solterra?” Her eyes trail over the dust that clings to the girl’s coat and the smell of a scorching sun that she recognizes upon any Solterran.

@Marisol @Elif - I don't even know what this post is.

florentine
rocking your pretty flower world