Cerulean Cape blow a kiss at the methane skies

It is the storm that brings the broken creature in toward the land, spitting the feeble form ruthlessly onto the sands alongside driftwood and discarded ocean matter. The ocean rages against the shoreline, incited by the shrieking of the sky as snow pelts the Earth, and its haphazard blows slowly push the figure further onto the stretch of sand. The wolf stirs faintly under the onslaught. She is a broken thing, an indistinct mess of tattered sandy fur and raw open wounds stretched over a too-thin frame, only barely recognizable as a wolf. Yet somehow, she lives. A weak cough bubbles out of the shattered girl every few moments, forcing water from her in tiny amounts. Her body struggles against the trauma threatening to overwhelm it entirely, but the effort is too little. That she'd survived the journey here at all is a miracle — now, her broken body has finally reached its limit, and her luck seems to have run thin. The life fades from her quickly as the storm rages around her, sapped by her wounds and by the crippling cold. RIP Branwen ok I'm done with this post bye.