stamping flowers in the garden

there is a solemnity about this place, a subdued melancholy in the drooping curve of each branch, in the leafy tresses trailing despondently against the ground. sunlight dapples across her coat as Medulla weaves between the trees, ducking into the shade to escape the heat. it is noon, and the sun has risen to its highest point in the sky, beating down with ruthless intent. clearly, she isn’t the only one feeling the heat; Kass makes a low warble of complaint, shifting restlessly atop her shoulder.

“ow,” she complains, shooting him a glare as his claws prick her fur. the pain is brief and inconsequential, but Kass ducks his head, suitably chastened.

“here,” she sighs, coming to a bend in the river.

it taunts her, glittering beneath the sun like liquified crystal. lowering her head, she presses her lips to its surface and drinks greedily, relishing in the cold shock of it as it chases the heat from her veins. Kass swoops from his perch and rests daintily on the bank, lowering his head to drink. he uses his beak to flick water down his back, spraying Dulla as he ruffles his feathers.

“looks like someone’s having fun,” she drawls, raising a sardonic brow. but she cannot deny how nice the water feels, and casts an appraising eye over its dazzling surface, contemplating a dip.