Arrow Lake i want a boy who’s so drunk he doesn’t talk

aw, set for the new moon on the 17th

The earth was restless so Olive was restless. The night was young, but already the woman knew she was not going to find sleep. Olive belabored many things — her exile from teaghlaigh and the pink scar that permanently marred her pretty maw, for a few examples — but this was not one of them. It was the new moon and she buzzed with energy, so she simply did not go to bed that night and continued about her tasks. As a lone wolf, these were few. No borders to maintain, no caches to stock with death, not that she had partaken in these responsibilities anyways. So Olive used the time to forage and find food. So slight of frame, it did not take much to keep the woman hale and healthy. 

Now she foraged by the weak moonlight, picking through the barren branches on low-lying scrub bushes. Some had winter iceberries, tart and red, hidden in the crooks and crannies. The woman located them not by sight but smelt them with her sensitive nose and felt them with her licorice lips before plucking them and swallowing, knowing full and well that winter was not kind and would likely wipe these out these gems, soon. Winter took without asking permission. 

When she had picked over the entire area, Olive retreated to the shores of the nearby lake, enticed by the way the water’s surface glittered and flashed with pale moonbeams. The new moon did not afford much radiance, but here the effect was multiplied and she gazed into the water, absolutely dazzled and enraptured by the light show. Before long she was reminded of how thirsty she was and broke her meditation to drink, drawing the cool water into her belly and feeling it settle there. With her concentration now broken, the misted sylph picked herself up and began to stretch her limbs, hoping to shake some of the restless energy through repetitive, mindful movements.