Lake Rodney I’m still hanging here

the heavy snowfall of the previous day left the world in a blanket of white, dazzling and blinding when the sun broke through of its cloudy prison. it never lasted long — a few minutes at most before another large wave of clouds skittered across it. praimfaya's interest, though, is not in the sky. she tracks thru the heavy snow deep in some places, feeling it brush against her underbelly. she is tall and elegant in structure but and muscled wryly, gon wor, as her mother would say. still, the deeper parts of the snow where it has drifted and banked give her trouble.

she does not venture far from roangeda. lake rodney is the worlida's normal haunt outside of the fen. as she had said to arcturus, she hopes that the lake will be a stopping place of the winter and spring herds upon their return and she keeps a keen frostbound eye upon it despite that it does not fall within her own claimant. part of her, secretly perhaps, hopes to catch the dashing moonspearian out this way again; and when she sees a figure resting by the lake bank her heart does a little flip in her chest.

her disappointment, as she draws nearer and realizes that the fur color is all wrong and that it is not arcturus is ridiculously palpable. despite herself it seems she has unintentionally developed a bit of a crush on moonspear's beta. a soft huff — aimed at what she thinks is her foolishness — escapes her; and since she's likely already been detected the worlida lets out a chuff of greeting to the stranger.