Wapun Meadow i. a vagrant you shall become

@Aurëwen

The Lirean drifted as a beam of branch caught in the rapids of a flood, the earth shifting from lichen and ice to the grass of deciduous forests and soft loams, to the rise of mountains and the grit of sand. To look over her shoulder meant to be unbound, lost. 

The quaint clearing offered little by the way of protection - open and sheltered only by a strand of cottonwoods along its edge. Even so, there were roots to sleep amongst, a stream for water, game to flush in the morn - it would do for a rest. 

Twilight had taken hold of the land, a soft hush of cricketsong (made a duet by the trills of frogs) greeted her as the nightclad girl curled her spine against the trunk of a tree - lilac eye lifting to the peach and periwinkle sky as the first stars began to dance. 

There had been talk of her Lady mother bearing a second litter, the year of her return from Lucavon's clutches. Rhælla - whom had always cherished the stargazing astrology lessons of her youth - had fantasized of a time when she might walk younger siblings through the Garden, share with them the childish excitement of staying awake deep into the night to impart upon them the same star lore. 

A lump swelled in her throat and a sheen coated her remaining orb; she swallowed and blinked both away, refusing to allow the grief to claim her. 

To look over your shoulder is to unwind, unravel, come apart at the edges. 

A soft list left her lips as a crown of onyx sunk to curl over her paws neatly, an ache murmuring in her chest as she carried on the Veltigar tradition of watching the heavens alone.