Wapun Meadow Courageous, stumbling

She’s hunts for the boy. She has made the offer, after all.

But she is utter garbage at it.

The meadow’s frolicking with spring activity. Rabbits and fieldmice and big blue butterflies flutter and flaunt themselves, mocking her with their April merriment. She hides and stalks and leaps and still every living thing manages to evade her pursuit. The winter alone has created a graceless and rash creature, with muscles all but dwindled and a dearth of hunter’s patience.

She slumps down into the beargrass, a splat of exhaustion. There is no way she is returning to Kvarsheim empty-handed.

She huffs a strand of grass away from her face and peers through the swaying ocean of green.

Guess I live here now.