[SE] on open fields (open)

Lily She’s just a singer - well, a little more than that, but these days that is probably what best describes Lily. Music-maker. Musician? Maybe in her dreams, which have somehow drifted from dancing and fucking and lovely, beautiful things, to the simple pleasure of sitting at her piano and struggling to compose. She needed to clear her addled head, get some fresh air, do something else outdoors, lest she become a hermit. A hermit with a sex room. Ha. Now that is pathetic. Frey would be most unhappy with that kind of development, Lily thinks. Out for a simples stroll, a thin-brimmed hat on to guard against the glare of the sun, the red-head treks and squelches her way through the mud. Some parts are easy, some steps seem to pull at her feet and want to keep her boots attached to the ground. It’s surprisingly tiring. By the time the woman reaches the firmer ground of the Fields, she’s panting a bit from the exertion. Upon spotting another woman nearby, Lily waves at her to get her attention. “Hey! Do you have any water?” The singer is particularly in tune with her hydration levels and hates feeling parched. women are like tricks by sleight of hand which, to admire, we should not understand