[AW] feel the wind rise

[Noëlle]

The Susurro Fields, when slumbering under a white blanket of snow, appears formless under grey overcast. The horizon is hard to discern, as it melts with the sky. The world becomes an ivory bubble, encapsulating those who tread its wide expanse. The brush of wind escaping the coast, the hard earth under hoof and the hidden lumps casting soft shadow breaks the illusion. If only for a moment.
 
Noëlle stands at its precipice. Bundled by the thick, indigo wool scarf wrapped about her neck. Pressing a silver necklace, attached to the white half-horn, close to her chest. At times it throbs, too close to the skin – but she imagines it beats with her, pulsing in faint memory. The fields spike a feeling of excitement in her flesh, a jolt of electricity that promptly propels her forward. Running headstrong into the wide berth, and trailing hot air from parted lips.
 
She looses all thought, digging deep into the sensations that begin to flare in the heat of the sprint. Limbs begin to burn with want to rest, and lungs threaten to lose their mechanical rhythm – for heaves and gasping. By then she’s already deep within the fields themselves. Swallowed whole by the illusion of monochrome and off-whites. She pulls back as exhaustion creeps, shifting into a walk with a heavy, bated breath. The heat rolls off her body, and follows along like a flag in the mild wind. She enjoys the coolness surrounding her, revels in its sharp bite and tender embrace. A wayward smile holds carelessly against Noëlle’s lips.
 
Besides the thrill and simplicities of the challenge, her eyes glittered in sapphire as they scanned the lands. In search of striking blood reds, and obscene orange colored berries taking shelter under snow. Perhaps – a juniper found its roots in the earth, offering hues of deep blue. She finally had a plan for herself, a sustainable business that would take quite some time to cultivate. The young fae licked her lips, and eyed the formless gray above with a narrow gaze. Only briefly, casting her demands on the forces commanding the skies. “A few hours,” she mumbled to them. “And that means three at the least!”

It would snow, again, perhaps sooner than expected. If it did, if it covered the earth again and blanketed the air as well – she would surely be trapped by its fury. Any effort to seek and find, that which held value to her, would prove futile. At least, she could look forward to its cautionary beauty.