Welcome to my underworld
Where it gets quite dark
Where it gets quite dark
Aithne walks through the Glade, hands clasped behind her back, head tilted back as she surveys the natural splendor of the area around her. It may be Leafchange, but the trees are still beautiful: great, massive things with leaves like fire. The girl likes it better now than in the spring, when everything is just a varying shade of green. Despite the season, birds still linger in the treetops, and their songs cascade through the branches, accompanied by the babble of water that trickles across the landscape in various streams and the pitter-pat of rain falling from the sky. It's all very quiet and peaceful.
The Ancient pauses by a fallen log, hopping up to walk across it, arms spread for balance. She catches sight of a bird's nest in the branches over her head. It's empty, the nestlings long since fledged and moved out to have their own lives. She can relate to them in a way. She, too, has flown the nest, finding her own path.
Hopping down from her log, she settles beneath the shade of a particularly large oak tree. Its branches shade her from the drizzle, and she tucks herself in against the trunk before grabbing a lighter from her pocket. Flicking it open, she summons a small flame, which she then begins to manipulate, twisting and twining the fire through her fingers. It's warm and pleasant on her dark skin, and for the moment, she's content to practice her magic in peace.
The Ancient pauses by a fallen log, hopping up to walk across it, arms spread for balance. She catches sight of a bird's nest in the branches over her head. It's empty, the nestlings long since fledged and moved out to have their own lives. She can relate to them in a way. She, too, has flown the nest, finding her own path.
Hopping down from her log, she settles beneath the shade of a particularly large oak tree. Its branches shade her from the drizzle, and she tucks herself in against the trunk before grabbing a lighter from her pocket. Flicking it open, she summons a small flame, which she then begins to manipulate, twisting and twining the fire through her fingers. It's warm and pleasant on her dark skin, and for the moment, she's content to practice her magic in peace.
At least you know exactly who your friends are
They're the ones with matching scars
They're the ones with matching scars
Aithne
Minor powerplay allowed without permission.
Feel free to use force/magic on Aithne.
Feel free to use force/magic on Aithne.
