T H O M A S I N
Although usually measured in increments of distance, Thomasin - the budding dryad - would measure this quest not by the number of footsteps, or the hours that would pass, but by counting how many times she would fall apart in a meltdown.
The first time? She cried over tripping over her own feet as she scaled the treacherous heights of the Arma Mountains – the fall had scraped up her knees and knotted the length of her tail. She persevered through the tears, decided to braid her tail to keep it out of her way, kissed her own boo-boos like her father would have, and then set out to continue her journey.
But shortly after the sun slipped away to sleep, she found herself in tears again as the wind had extinguished her torch and left her alone in the dark; even though she was a Denoctian and naturally enamored with the night, the unfamiliar territory had rendered her terrified, so she had snuck under the gargantuan roots of an ancient tree, curled up and cold, a sniffling and weeping mess until morning had come.
As daylight breached, she chose courage – what little she could muster – and pushed herself to reach Terrastella. The lamb’s map was muddied by the flurries of snow that trickled from the clouds, and she found herself in the bordering tree-line of a vast field. The sky was a pillow soft gray, but it was soon giving away to a bleached, sunny sky. The snow had stopped falling, leaving these fields in a ladled blanket of white.
Like a deer with an innate sense of doom, she waited in the shadows of the winter brush, quietly watching. Thomasin knew better than to just walk out into the open, especially when she was such a sickly, fragile thing. She had to be still and observant before crossing the wide -
A large growl caught her by surprise.
Alas, it was only the festering hunger of her own stomach.
With a sigh, she peeked back to the basket she was carrying. She had forgotten to bring herself rations for the trek, but to be fair, she was supposed to have been in Terrastella last night. And, obviously, that didn’t happen. In fact, the bread was supposed to be a gift to a friend she had promised to visit. A pang of guilt flicked her heart as she longed for the meal so conveniently laid out for her. “A bite won’t hurt,” she whispered.
She tore the loaf in half, admiring the structure of the crumb she had created, before the water began to well in her overcast eyes. The crust was perfect, the sponge inside soft and simple – though no longer warm – still delicate, still smelling of yeast, rosemary, and salt.
Vampires probably wouldn’t like bread anyways. Stupid choice.
Thomasin bit her lower lip in a desperate attempt to stifle herself, her ears pinned to the back of her head as she caved to take a bite. With each bite, a fat tear ran down the curve of her toffee-colored cheeks.
A bit lost, and eating the gift she was supposed to have brought last night, she felt very overwhelmed.
A flock of birds had abruptly seized her attention, and not wanting to be selfish, she chose to start tearing up the remainder of the loaf.
“At least someone will appreciate my bread.” She mused quietly, a pained smile growing on her rose petal lips. She softly called out to the birds as she began tossing pieces, “I have plenty to share – “
The distance between Denocte and Terrastella was, approximately, three meltdowns.
"talking."
tagged: @Odile - and anyone else feel free to join!
