perhaps Samo
At the break of day, the forest is quiet. Peaceful as the sun makes its slow crawl toward the heavens. Rays of gold pierce through leaves to paint a mosaic along the forest floor. It is the warmth of those rays Svalla awakes too.
She greets the morn with quiet strength and tranquility. Calm now, even as grief still weighs down her stomach, as she rose to depart from what's left of her people. Many still rest, curled together and healing. Eclus is left behind upon the rock they'd bedded upon.
The further she travels, the livelier the expanse becomes. Simple joys that she's hardly had the time to sit and admire, such as bird song so vivacious in harmony, or perhaps the clutter of squirrels leaping from tree to tree overhead.
Distantly, as she reaches the edge of the tree line where forest spills into a golden meadow, a herd of elk graze. Spring calves now summer teenagers, eating alongside their mothers. Their great stag—an old, weathered beast, sits at the helm with a watchful eye.
While the call of the hunt sings to the wildling, Svalla does not pursue quiet yet. Instead, she sits with her chin tilted toward the sky, and lets herself enjoy a moment of peace and quiet.
At the break of day, the forest is quiet. Peaceful as the sun makes its slow crawl toward the heavens. Rays of gold pierce through leaves to paint a mosaic along the forest floor. It is the warmth of those rays Svalla awakes too.
She greets the morn with quiet strength and tranquility. Calm now, even as grief still weighs down her stomach, as she rose to depart from what's left of her people. Many still rest, curled together and healing. Eclus is left behind upon the rock they'd bedded upon.
The further she travels, the livelier the expanse becomes. Simple joys that she's hardly had the time to sit and admire, such as bird song so vivacious in harmony, or perhaps the clutter of squirrels leaping from tree to tree overhead.
Distantly, as she reaches the edge of the tree line where forest spills into a golden meadow, a herd of elk graze. Spring calves now summer teenagers, eating alongside their mothers. Their great stag—an old, weathered beast, sits at the helm with a watchful eye.
While the call of the hunt sings to the wildling, Svalla does not pursue quiet yet. Instead, she sits with her chin tilted toward the sky, and lets herself enjoy a moment of peace and quiet.