One and the Same

Under the wintry air and the sky that has born black clouds since Winter came, the Boreas region was as grey as a newspaper picture. The river she grew accustomed with has given up its blue, the stones show no russet colours and the trees have taken on the monochrome look of old movies. Even the air tastes more dull upon the cinnamon vixen tongue. The wind whips salt into eyelashes and onto exposed skin and all the while the predator birds fly across the skies with a clatter and whir. The naked winter trees line the forest.The babe breath rises in visible puffs to join the darkened clouded night sky. There was a freezing chill in the air that brought crispness to the leaves, bejewelled with frost, that crunch under her tea cups paw and if it were not for a growl the woman would have considered herself utterly alone in this winter wonterland. Who is there? she demanded, her hackles raised and her muscles tensed.

haunt me down