Broken Antler Fen fall like shooting stars

for @Catalina

a chill grips the morning even though the sun is a few hours risen into the sky of pale candyfloss blue spreading its warm golden glow over the fen. the grasses — some still retaining their emerald coloration while others have begun to darken while other patches have begun to turn brown and brittle with the shifting seasons — covered in a dusting of frost. it glitters and glistens like teardrops upon the grasses of the fen spread out before her as moves through the heart of her roangeda's territory nosing into an emptied fox borrow. though she supposes the coming of autumn could be considered lovely in it's new cornucopia of colors — vibrant and rich and warm — praimfaya knows that death is not as pretty as nature exaggerates it to be.

this, of course, will be resurrected come spring. in a way that, unfairly, she thinks, blodreina cannot be.

a frown twists her lips and she huffs — briefly distracted by the plume of white steam that lifts from her lips, writhing and curling around her nose where it evaporates — before making her way to the established borders to patrol.