Tonight her wandering had brought her to a wetland, smothered in cold thick fog and alive with the sound of crickets. Zada was a dark plume of smoke, a silent silhouette drifting through the choking white fog. Her eyes almost glowed, toxic green through the hazy night as she picked her way through the marsh area. She shivered almost imperceptibly at the damp cold, at the soggy but freezing earth below her paws. The bog was undeniably a bad place to spend a winter night, but she didn't mind so much. She had spent the night in worse places.
Zada had kept up her exploring long past the sun's departure from the sky, only making her way to the bog after night had already cloaked the land. She could feel the weariness seeping into her bones now, and knew she would soon need to rest. The thought didn't bother her much for now, though-- the night was young, and her soul hungered for more yet.
Zada had kept up her exploring long past the sun's departure from the sky, only making her way to the bog after night had already cloaked the land. She could feel the weariness seeping into her bones now, and knew she would soon need to rest. The thought didn't bother her much for now, though-- the night was young, and her soul hungered for more yet.
sister, I'm not much a poet but a criminal
and you never had a chance
and you never had a chance
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