the road less traveled
As a rule, Willoughby did not fly near mountains. Her wings, though vast in span, chittered too easily in the frost. They took in ice faster than she was experienced using them. This was why she did not, and the only sensible thing she'd be mindful of not doing. It did, however, not stop her from flapping them like a giant rooster.
Walking about the base of the mountain, she stretched her multi-colored wings. Beating against the cool air, she did a little prance just the once before moving on. Unaware if another spied on her, she kept her eyes shut and a tune on her lips. It was akin to a hop and a skip, fluttering and boasting indirectly. She was proud of her looks, yes, but she never said such a thing.
Never to another person. That would be rude. Denocte was fairly unknown to her, so she sought to roam around the mountains and map them mentally. Maybe if she found something shiny, she could exchange the location to a treasure hunter. Then she'd get some signos for her trouble. Then she'd be one step closer to her new instrument. But -
For now? The bard merely wandered.
@Azrael / speaks
