Thalassa
Swatting away a damp branch, water droplets fall onto her head, earning a glare as she tucks a few strands behind her horn. Frustratingly, the blonde in her hair has decided to stay. Apparently, bleach isn't just something that 'washes out' despite the flurries of rain that have begun to fall with the change of the season. She'd hoped the screaming might have scared it away, but it would appear that she's stuck with the color until it grows out.
In between rainstorms, Thal seeks out the Mathair to check on the fire marks from the previous season. She'd done what she could to contain the flames, but the smell of wet charcoal still permeates the air, the ground black where the foliage has been burned away. Leaves dapple the dark patch, various colors having fallen from the trees above like paint drops on a black canvas. Crouching next to the damage, she presses a hand against the burnt trunk and looks for signs of regrowth.
In between rainstorms, Thal seeks out the Mathair to check on the fire marks from the previous season. She'd done what she could to contain the flames, but the smell of wet charcoal still permeates the air, the ground black where the foliage has been burned away. Leaves dapple the dark patch, various colors having fallen from the trees above like paint drops on a black canvas. Crouching next to the damage, she presses a hand against the burnt trunk and looks for signs of regrowth.
I'm in love with my future.
Can't wait to meet her.
Can't wait to meet her.
