A small, soft looking eyrie lays on the new grass, watching the shoots bounce back as she raises and lowers her paw.
She sighs, large wings drooping further towards the ground she lays on, the lack of actual feathers blindingly obvious.
Looking up at the cotton wool clouds suspended in the bright blue sky, she wonders aloud.
Why should the sky look so free, the air smell so sweet, when I cannot dine upon those delights? With wings as feeble as these, how can I feast my eyes on the unreachable heights of which my blood so yearns?
Arwithe suddenly bounces up, spraying grass strands around her, and spins around, proclaiming to the clouds...
Until they can make light-weight nylon, only then I shall be free!
|
Fishing Skill: 0
Jobs Completed: 0
Played: 0
