Blackfeather Woods pink wine

@Abraxas

It was yet another day in the dark and dank forest — another day of Kitsch’s lethargic, meaningless existence. Her days were spent laying in one area of the forest, then another, and [if she was feeling particularly spritely] another; an expanse of endless naptimes spent cradled in tree roots and various shallow depressions across the land. The stracciatella girl huffed and skirted around the other wolves; and if it sounds over-dramatic, that’s because it was. Kitsch easily vacillated between extremes, and the girl had been feeling rather down, recently. Solitude was fine — but only sometimes. It was now that she wanted attention… not that there were many around her who were willing to provide, which only made her feel it all more keenly. Somehow, her want for company drove her further into a quixotic lonliness.

It was a day that was cooler than most, and it reminded the kitten that winter would soon be upon her. The forest was always humid and chilly, but now there was a certain bite to that unsettled her. Sullenly, Kitsch found a spot of dappled sunshine [so little of it could actually break through the thick canopy], circled to flatten a small bed of grasses and plopped her diminutive form onto the earth. Then, the girl entertained museful thoughts of her family and how it had been nearly a year since she had seen them last — it was a winter storm that had separated her and drove her from their kingdom, after all. Uncertain with what this next winter would bring, but also certain it could bring nothing worse than what had already been wrought, Kitsch relegated herself to simple bathing in the noonday sun.