Coconut Grove pineapples in her hair

Come one, come all!

Life wasn't as bad as she had imagined it to be a few weeks ago. The dread she felt so keenly began to subside, albeit slowly. It wasn't that she felt for Furiosa any less [the fallen red herring would always be remembered as the one who brought her to the family and introduced her to true unity, and nothing less] but time was the salve that healed all wounds, emotional, physical and spiritual. This existential fact had been proven over and over again, from the disgraced women Olive convened with near the beach to Dakarai, torn and bleeding from his mad escape. They both had healed and time, once again, proved its efficacy in the form of her muted grief and abating misery.

Whereas before she had been drawn to the waking shadows, Olive now felt her soul redrawn to places of light and life and energy. Isley's words played continuously in her mind, as there was much truth to them. Harness the good, rather than feed the demons of this world with prostration and affliction. To do so, she communed with both soul and nature, coming ever closer to each with the purpose of their blessed union. Just as there was love amidst the bleeding titans of the forest, there was light in the darkness, renewed life in death and balance to be found wherever she looked. 

Life was to only get sweeter! It has been decided that Teaghlaigh's cautious heed would be lifted and the greyscale sylph felt as if a weight had been taken off her shoulders... though, really, during the lockdown Olive left Teaghlaigh many times and spent many nights away from den, her home. She didn’t do this to deliberately disobey Ceannsach’s orders, but it were just in her nature and it was a force that was impossible to stop, nor did she want it to stop. It was no matter now, as it hadn't seemed to truly bother Arturo... he had barely reacted when she brought home Armand, blantantly having disrespected the rules. For that she was thankful, as she would easily martyr herself in the name of exploration and discovery. But Furios's death was now behind her, and as difficult as it might be, it was time to move on.

Her feathered, willowy legs carried the woman far from Ravensblood Forest. She moved rhythmically, meditatively, soul bobbing along inside her body as she moved. Her flecked peridot gems drank in the stark scenery, the freshness and the chill enliving her very nerve endings. Her toes crunched and gripped the snow but they never got cold; and so she moved, heated from the inside by the virtue of her divine movements. When she reached the grove of sugar dusted palms, her restless feet finally felt comfort in stillness. The land was quiet - so enrapturingly quiet. Here the spirits of the forest settled and quieted; it was a small oasis, and the grove knew it. It was so unlike her home, the bleeding wildwood that she loved. There, the titans sang low, sonorously… consistently. Though these voices were infinitely wise, it still pleased olive to find quietude. 

Olive stepped carefully and lithesomely in the snow, determined not to disrupt the winter scene. Olive picked up her legs and pulled them close to her ribcage, over the snow, before stretching them out and gingerly placing them upon the ground. Then a dainty foot met a hard round object and the inconsistency gave the her pause; she nosed it out of it's sleeted camouflage and tilted her head towards it, trying to understand it. The chestnut orb, roughly the size of her head, was fibrous and rough to the touch. The Druid nearly left the strange object in the snow but she suddenly smelled a most delectable scent. The heavy notes [the honeyed scents] were enticing. Olive traced the perfume to a broken chasm in the hard, brown thing - the flesh had contracted and cracked in the cold, and the saccharine aroma wafted from within its darkened depths. 

Curiosity overwhelmed her and she picked up a nearby stone, trapping it between her jaw. She struck the coconut with the stone and the frozen flesh cracked under the pressure. The two halves split open to reveal an interior almost as white as the snow within which it bedded. The purity of it was dazzling and the sickly-sweet scent lambasted her nares for the disturbance. Unperturbed, her  rosy tongue caressed the puckered interior of the coconut in an almost intimate matter; luxuriating in how the fatty nectar coated her tongue. How she enjoyed the coastal fruit, scraping and tonguing the tropical flesh with her hungry maw. It was delectable, a true fruit of the earth, sent straight from the sun. It was a last remnant of summer, left to freeze in the snow.