Fox's Glade i wanna let go

The more Red told her about the desert, the more Clary absolutely knew she did not want to live there. Come to think of it, the desert didn't even sound like a place she wanted on her bucket list (which - c'mon, this is Clary. It doesn't take all that much to make that list). Her growing look of horror must've shown through every inch of her furrowed brow and gaping jaw, but even with her friend's effort to pretty up Clary's mental image with talk of the sky and constellations, these good things were honestly just streaks of nice paint smeared across a canvas already ruined by the painting underneath. The colours were pretty, sure - but the thing underneath remained the thing underneath - grotesque, and hideous, and better off shoved under a rock and forgotten.

But she couldn't just say that about somewhere Red used to live. You just didn't do that. So when Red turned to her, Clary corrected her gaping mouth to a wide and toothy grin, though the splay of her ears betrayed every ounce of everything she actually felt. Great stars, how was she supposed to respond to this. "You get great night skies here, too," she pointed out, the care not to offend evident in the slowness of her words, "And, you know. Water. And grass. And big animals you can eat. And also nice weather." And basically everything else the desert didn't have, and everything it did - which surely made Easthollow the better place - but she didn't say that. Of course she didn't say that. Not out loud, anyway. She followed her words with a nervous laugh, that splay of the ears, and that same toothy grin.