Noctisardor Bypass wore my language like an amaranth

sated on a pair of muskrats and warmed by the noontime sun, phaedra stole through the greenwood. spry legs carried her over a memorized route through the idyllic purlieus of a cottongrass glade; the lake that comprised the heart of the territory; deadfall cluttering the forest. 

@Mahler’s scent markers kept her in the fetters of these sort of anxious meanderings. she found that the less bother she made for others, the less likely others were to bother her in turn. as such, she restricted her movements within parenthesis—hewn to the liminal spaces of life here. the little ghost was retiring; troubled. 

scrawny, too, as she did not break bread with the pack, and the choicest cuts were long since enjoyed when she did put in a late appearance. 

lurching from the shadows, phaedra jumped to a half-felled elm and flowed up the mossclad bough until she was midway across and overlooking a path worn by use. she throned herself there, slumped astraddle of it and swinging spectral legs off either side.

presently she sighed, chin finding a perch upon a kinked wrist while her thoughts ebbed and flowed against the shores of languor.