There's an art to life's distraction, to somehow escape the burning wait, the art of scraping through
She should be more focused. On a lot of things, honestly. Hester’s been dragging feet and hooves both on her task from Ludo, though she has a convenient excuse for why she hasn’t made more progress on it. Neither the Herald of Life or the Herald of the Stars are particularly revered in Halo, at least not to the point where whole places are dedicated to them. She has to wait.
There’s a frantic, nervous energy that seems to have infected Halo, worry obvious in nearly everyone she passes, despite the relative warmth in Snowcloak, the Warden’s creation working wonderfully. Even still, Hester is shifted into her woolier shape, staving off the last of the cold with a thick coat.
The tree growing in the center of town is old news by this point, but more exciting is a woman she absolutely recognizes. With a loud bleat, Hester starts to run, little hooves clacking on the ice and stone, her head lowering as if she means to topple Aisha over, stopping at the last moment and looking up at the other woman (and unknown fellow attuned).
There’s a frantic, nervous energy that seems to have infected Halo, worry obvious in nearly everyone she passes, despite the relative warmth in Snowcloak, the Warden’s creation working wonderfully. Even still, Hester is shifted into her woolier shape, staving off the last of the cold with a thick coat.
The tree growing in the center of town is old news by this point, but more exciting is a woman she absolutely recognizes. With a loud bleat, Hester starts to run, little hooves clacking on the ice and stone, her head lowering as if she means to topple Aisha over, stopping at the last moment and looking up at the other woman (and unknown fellow attuned).
Hester
