Phoenix Maplewood i could write novels with the words i could never say to you

@Komodo

There is no change in a matter of days. She wakes up, she walks, and she mourns, and then sleeps when she doesn’t feel like doing anything else. There’s no direction in her steps and she doesn’t care where she goes. She avoided the scent of wolves when it became heavy, a pack she had been unaware of, but beyond that she’s stayed to herself when there has been a possibility she may run into another. None of the land she comes across is any more familiar than the next. When they moved from the mountain, the weather had been different, and the world doesn’t leave anything similar behind.

The blooms of the Maplewood of flowers and berries leave an aromatic peace of reprieve of her usual darkened mind. She finds a patch of blackberries that have begun to darken and her nose touches them. The leaves make her think of Grayday and when he’d been bitten by a snake. It hadn’t been that long ago but the mere though so suddenly causes an ache in her chest. Quietly, she does her best to set it aside (with little success) and noses her way through the bush to find the riper berries that give her the scent of rabbit nearby.