The grass was long, its tips yellow from the Tallsun's drought as it swayed in the winds. Winds that felt heavier so high in the hills, pressing against her cheeks, taking her mane as they went. Along with it came the typical scent of freshness; one that reminded her of life; of rebirth, of a place under the sun (that she had so selfishly taken). And then the scent regretfully took her back to the battles, the wounded and the dead. But alas, it was how it was. It is how it is. Her motioned stopped as she took in the landscape that had gone small and picturesque before her silent eyes. But was that really the case? The world had suddenly turned so strange that nothing seemed to be how it was. Not anymore.
Maren sighed and she waited until it felt like enough time had passed to be sure it had been taken by the wind, along with hopefully some of her troubling thoughts. Then, tickled by the meadow's furr, her legs continued carrying her through the thistles and dandelions —wandering. Because at least nothing had changed about that. The hills were still the hills, the air was still the air —still bringing the same scent, and she still thought them all comforting and beautiful as her eyes and lungs bathed in them.
… And yet she only dragged herself here to do her assigned patrol. Misael must be somewhere as well, but she had no clue where, because somehow her being a seer didn’t change the fact that she always seemed to lose her partners along the way.
A bit further up she saw a white- and black equine, standing a bit away from a strange looking unicorn that she couldn’t see that well through the long grasses that framed her vision. She walked up to the girl first: “Goodday, I am the Throat’s diviner, but on patrol,” she greeted the girl’s blue eyes —grudgingly, she had better things to do than this attempted manhunt. Things like building a church or expanding her knowledge. Yet, she liked her to know, maybe because that way Maren could at least get a little bit of amusement out of it, because it felt the same as telling a joke. “Have you by any chance seen my colourful colleague—” Then her alabaster head, always unconsciously searching for anything interesting, noted the blood around the second individual and her eyes widened. Her mind gasped, although her throat stayed put in its silence. “You need a healer,” she noted, looking —inspecting, perhaps hoping to find something that could maybe contradict her own statement.
For she had said and thought it too many times already this month, so many times that the care (the genuine care) had been squished out of it. But healers are busy people these days.
Talking
Patrolling! :D hope you don't mind me popping in <3
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