Winter 18, 511 AV Nashira's hands clutched the edge of the fabric, crumbling it in her sparkling palms. Her thumbs danced across the smooth expanse as she tugged on them lightly, pulling her cloak forward, so as to help block the wind. The fabric often caught on her horns, which curled away from her bed of brown hair, much like a ram's horns might, causing her to hold her head down a bit, so that the Zulrav's breath couldn't caress her features quite as often. As she glided along, over a thin, fresh bed of white snow, the Ethaefal's footsteps trailed behind in her wake. Why must it always be so petching cold? Shira wondered as she forced herself onwards, towards where she was certain she had seen the last line of Denvali buildings earlier in the morning. This time of year, whenever Syan chooses to retract her light. Hiding it behind the grey clouds which have replaced the white. Shaking her head lightly, the Ethaefal gave her hood another few, light tugs, trying to bring it over the point of her horns. But it refused to budge, and then remain in that place. Shaking her head as she continued on, Nashira decided it best to simply give up on it, and hold the fabric in place, so that the wind would leave her. So that she could hide, in part, what she was. If someone wasn't really looking. Considering it could be more than a bit difficult to miss the horns and sparkling skin. |