Swiftcurrent Creek every color at once in a column of light

@Amber I hope this isn’t too far for you!
Backdating this to a few days ago :)

 
The pale sylph was far from home — but this type of behavior was a well established part of Olive’s pack-hood.  After all, a wayfarer savoir-faire was not so easily shed. It was a physical need almost as it was a mental; should she remain inert for too long [mostly likely pressed up against Dakarai, enjoying the divine laziness of side-by-side winter naps], her willowy limbs would begin to ache and bother her consistently. Just so, her mind would race and she desired the mental clarity that exploration provided. To move was to experience life and Olive would not keep from herself what she so yearned for… but it was becoming clearer that her tethers to one location, the Ravensblood Forest, were growing ever stronger. Being away from Teaghlaigh, her family and her kindred spirit gave her some distress, as she worried for their safety… But she never let those anxieties take over her entirely.

 In order to balance the two parts of her which battled within her consciousness, peregrination became her goal and movement became her daily gratification. Though it was common for Olive to lope around the forest [in the same of patrols], this was one of those times when the feathered seraph kissed her lover goodbye and departed for some time, to see what lay beyond the comfort of the known.

Olive had spent the better far of two days and night in the wild. She had rounded around the Sunspire Mountains [traversing some of the smaller, rolling hills that lay close its’ base] and cut through an expansive wetlands. The minutes and hours were consumed with unsmelled smells, unseen sights and uncharted landscapes.The fae was so fulfilled by the act of explorations that she did not feel hunger nor experienced the need to hunt. Without that pressure, the woman was able to subsisted entirely off of the berries and tender leaves that would soon be smothered by the thick blankets winter snows— her small body didn’t need much to be sustained and not hunting meant that she could channel all of her energy into the simple act of moving farther and for longer. 

As she came upon the evening that would lead to her second night away from home, Olive realized that the wet winter landscape left her downy coat of cream and grey in a poetic disarray, swirled with mud and pushed up in places that should lay flat. Though the dusky, dying sunlight did not afford the bantam clear vision, she followed the bubbling tune of a creek and when she found it, quickly stepped into its shores. There she rolled and flipped around the the shallow waters that ran past the shore, letting the dirt of places past wash away from her.