Laz was always a very adventurous girl, never leaving an inch without explore, no matter how far she went. This is what she had know for so long, after she was abandoned as a pup she had forced herself to find solace in the world. Even now with a pack to come back to, the emptiness never seemed too be going anywhere. But the her smile did great with helping her forget, making her think everything Is okay. even if It was far from good. She walked through the snow, finding the giant trees a nice feature. Wondering if they reached the clouds above. She walked with an expression of awe and wonder. This kind of places was her main reason for being the explorer she became. To have the delight to know fantasy places such as this. +10 Explored a new land 1/3 ""

Art by Resin and Code by CloudyNight

Lebraid hadn’t strayed far from the bitter lemon and hummingbird oaks, their waning, writhing and interloping boughs lounging high into the malibu, columbian-blue nirvana, daring to devour this acrid earth they call home.

In only a few days, snow began to header, crowning the once june-bud grasses and its verdant, jaded overlay. Winter, it seems, was coming; alice and lily-white snowcrystals squelched underfoot, dispelling in her demoniacal, deathly wake. Of course, she wasn’t in solidarity, and seemingly never was, but that did not deter the woman from taking what should be rightfully hers, and that, for one, was a brass desire in procuring subtlety, intelligence, be it an amicable confrontation or not. She did not care if they were royalty, much less a stupe, because she, an eldritch heller bred from incorporeal, noxious fires, wouldn’t be seen as anything less of an indomitable cannon, and nor would she accede it. Alas, she’d stalk the foreign stench, predacious and unpredictable, soon honing those greyscale, deadpan nebula’s on an maritime canid, a girl, another fucking child —— where, pray tell, were their parents? Did they not understand the perils of being alone? Perhaps they saw it as an act of dauntlessness, where Lebraid saw it as an opportunity. Mossbed, lemongrass hairs breathed umbrage against autumn’s crisp buss, ogling the lapis, cobalt tinctures and how they liquified into runlets of yale and navy-blue -- where seas parallel skies, celestial dyes seemingly coexist amid a pale, columbian plash -- partly dubbed by a melanosis veil.

It was peculiar, truly, yet the woman overlooked it.

Slowly, surely, burly legs marched over the sallow pastures as she came from behind, orchestrating low, calamitous rumbles as they breached past inken jowls. There was simply no reason to secrete her presence, for it was already foreboding and unpredictably sedous, a blessing and a curse.

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