Hideaway Strath kabukimono

winding sweep
afternoon

cedar-scent; it clings to every inch of these woods, hangs in the air like incense.

satsu finds that she misses the sweet-rot of the orchard to the north, but she will come to appreciate what she has, in time.
there are no ghosts here.

a sense of freedom carries with her as she explores her new home—first, plucking her way among slumbering fiddleheads.

the grit of pollen works its way deep among her furs, until she stops to groom the yellowing from the plush of her belly; it returns within moments, to her frustration.

it is hard to know where to start or what to do — life does not feel as rigid here as it did upon her father's han, nor as desperate as being alone.