quite small, but enduring, eyre would remind you of the wildflowers that grow within the otherwise barren fields of a tundra, a small songbird quite adamant on staying the cold, harsh winter.

she's short in stature, but doesn't really seem like it, because she has never been able to grow out of that coltish, lanky teenager's body. as a consequence, there are no feminine curves, nor the plump-cheeked guise of youth, but a long sort of face, vaguely horse-like and stretched all over.

coloured with a rural eye, nothing vibrant nor dark, a queer in-between. a plain buttermilk base, complete with the slight shell of russet and the occasional darker accent, focusing on her face, tail and limbs. her fur is plush and compact, though it does tend to pick up scraps of leaves and other wayward trinkets of nature.

not yet scarred, her face quite pure despite its misfitting masculinity, her eyes a deep pumpkin, her cheeks pale but freckled. a true summer girl, a timeless girl, one of berets and cheap whiskey, wonderful things dreamt in the sticky harvest moon nighttimes.