Honeyed Pasture Abandoned but not forgotten

For our little lovebirds @Embry

Vibrant oranges and reds painted the evening sky overhead, crying out from behind the hovering cumulous. Each vivid swipe of color clawed at the darkness waiting to emerge and cover the heavens with its somber visage. The waning sun hugged the curves of the earth with a vice-like grip; its rays stretching further than one could see. The barren trees, few and far between, rattled like snakes in the icy wind; combatting the comfort of the meadow. Seagulls called out above, fighting over a source of food unknown to the golden female below.

A frigid gust kissed the ivory fae’s lithe frame; carrying with it the taste of salt and the illusion of the sun’s warmth. The flaxen dove paused her stride with a slight shiver, taking in the smallest hint of the sea waiting for her beyond the swaying gold of the pasture. Each ray of light cast down upon her through the grayscale clouds was a promise of what’s to come, of which she hoped was good.

Feyre’s topaz optics scanned the lush horizon, squinting against the harsh rays of the fading sun. Her heart thundered for reasons unknown, for all she knew they could be the same reasons that lead her to the northwest. Had it been instinct or adventure? Perhaps it was simply the fact that she had seen nearly every corner of the Teekon, or perchance it was the sinking pit in her stomach that worsened with every step she took closer to the vast sea. The female sank to her haunches, curling over slightly in an attempt to combat the phantom pain. It was not the first time she dealt with such a physical sign of her own emotions, nor would it likely be the last. Alas, it was not the time for such frivolity, for the night’s dark shadows haunted the edges of her vision. Without the light of day to reveal the dangers lurking around each corner, a lone wolf was no match for the bears known to the area.

The dove breathed in deeply, releasing her clenched abdomen and gradually rising to her paws. Slowly, she began padding onwards, hoping to find some form of shelter before the moon won its war with the sun.