HOTARU
At long last there is a modicum of peace that wedges its way into her heart and mind. It has only been a few days since her arrival in this strange land, but in those days she has reunited with her loved ones. Ones thought previously lost, some more so than others. It had drained her, the emotional tidal wave that had overtaken her as she reconnected with these lost wandering souls that had once been tethered so deeply to her own. But the world keeps turning, there is always a new threat on the horizon, and Hotaru is sick of all that emotional bullshit.
So here she is, wonder of wonders, back to her old habits of preparing for a battle she intends to win. Deimos had informed her early on about the approaching threat of LongNight. Unsurprising, with how well he knew her. She would have punched him in the junk for hiding it from her, especially considering she was at the perfect height for it. But now she had a goal, a purpose, a way to help protect her family when her magic was so weak and the vessel her soul had taken on was so frail. Knowledge and preparation were just as strong a defense as magic and might however, and that's why she's wandering around the forest in the early morning with a simple basket at her side that she had borrowed from Deimos.
The frost clings in pale clouds as she breathes, cheeks rosy with the brisk chill, but it doesn't bother her. Hotaru had lived her entire life encased by snowy mountains, weathering the eternal winter of the land she had proudly ruled over for many years. In fact it only made her nostalgic, even as she tucks her hair over her chilled ears. This body was so much more delicate, but its versatility made up for any lack of hardiness that she may have missed.
Heterochromic eyes sweep over the bases of the trees as she wanders idly through their twisting, winding pathways. Occasionally she will pause, kneeling in the snow and gently peeling away snow moss from the bark, fingertips pink but resilient as she builds a small pile in her basket. Though relatively easy to find, she spends the interim plucking black walnuts from the snow, knowing the task of separating the edible part from the hardy shell will be annoying but more than worth the effort if it meant food that wouldn't expire as quickly. Deimos was the main collector of meat, but she wasn't going to place all her bets on that. Beechnuts, the few missed acorns, and most importantly berries. Rosehips find their way into the basket most often, colorful and attractive, and she pops a few into her mouth as she makes her way through the forest.
It reminds her of Lakota, of learning what was edible, what was useless, and what was delightfully poisonous while at her side. Such old lessons, but ones she had never forgotten. Sighing, she shakes away the nostalgia, and bends to dig her fingers into the next patch of moss she finds. A soft hum starts in her throat, a few lyrics that come bright and quiet as she moves from patch to patch, keeping tune to the rhythm of the morning and chasing away old memories that cling to her like bloodstains.
over time
even the sharpest thorns
will become soft
