As you look around you, everything covered in the whiteness that you had grown accustomed to, you have no idea how you got here, much less where you really are. Despite this, your only protest is a dismissive shrug of your shoulders, a sigh pressing through tight lips as you pick yourself up off the ground, your mind hazy with something you can only assume is from sleep. You don't remember that, either, but again it is met with dismissal, nothing feeling particularly out of place. Your limbs creak from the cold as you meander through the leafless trees, your eyes bouncing from one naked branch to the next, head bobbing to the sound of crunching snow underfoot.
It is hard to place the last time you had felt so okay, your heart humming a tune of contentment, fluttering with an excitement you cannot place. This you choose not to question as well, instead curving your lips in to a smile, your leisurely pace picking up into a giddy jog. You could swear that a laugh escaped you then, reverberating through the bare trees, the emptiness that encompasses you, void of any life (besides the trees, you muse) that you can readily see. Or maybe it wasn't you, but before long the sound that you thought you heard fades from your immediate attention, your movement interrupted by the most peculiar object.
Linens hang from a ceiling constructed of kaleidoscope colors, a breath of fresh life against the stark white of winter’s slumber. You gawk, curious eyes drinking in every inch of its stone face, the intricate designs between the shades of color. You are fairly certain there is much about this place that is lost on you, and after a moment you turn from it, examining first the stream half-choked with frost, followed by the open patch of snow at your feet, which forces yet another grin. Instantly your nose is in it, shoving the snow this way and that, your hoof pushing the other side into a crude pile.
It is really nothing more than a lump, but off you are again, grabbing two pebbles from the riverbank and placing them in the middle of the front, twigs from the floor and shoving them carefully into the top of it, the backside, and one more stick to draw a lopsided smile beneath the stones. It is only when you feel that you have shoved enough sticks in to it that you jump backwards, marveling at your clearly ingenious piece of work with a satisfied hmph.
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
