it's just the way that I am (not trying to be difficult)

post log here!!

GWYN

A cold wind ran through the den, sending a chill up his spine and startling Gwyn out of sleep, springing to his paws as he gave a sharp bark of surprise. His breath billowed before him in hazy puffs, and looking out he could see a thin layer of snow had fallen across the meadow, the College looming in the distance, bare trees betraying the Arboreum to the world.

A yawn passed his lips and Gwyn settled onto his rump, using a paw to rub at his eyes. The nurses had changed his medicine again, claiming that they wanted him on something a little stronger in the run-up to winter, but so far all the combination had done was make him tired all. The. Time. Blinking sleep from his eyes, he noted just how high the sun was in the sky.

Huh. Didn’t he have class today?

Oh.

Oh.

“Shit!” he yelped, scrambling out and booking it across the meadow, fur sticking at all angles and looking entirely unpresentable - that would have to wait.

table by rae - image by unsplash

The Poppy Meadows, as beautiful as they were, always filled the earthen girl with a sense of melancholy. To the inhabitants of Cyrileth it was common belief that the meadow had, at a point before known memory, been a great battlefield. Though no blood had been shed in many, many years, each red petaled flower was a reminder as to the horror that had taken place. It was the sight of the poppies that brought forth memories of Cyrileth’s most recent atrocity. The death of the Eldritch Tree, and subsequent fire had kept her away from Gêld - she did not want to risk angering the grieving deities any further by poking around a grave, so she would wait before she would return to access the damage to the wood, and mourn for the lost god. A gentle breeze flowed through the flowers, ruffling the young girl’s fur in the process. It was a welcoming embrace, enticing Sorcha to travel through the field. She soon discovered that she was not alone in the meadow. A figure lay amongst the poppies, the rich russet tones of their pelt ignited by the sun above them. Curiosity thoroughly piqued, she edged closer - enough to pick out that, by his scent, this was a young male. “Good afternoon.” she called to the stranger, announcing her presence should he be awake. "Speak"

Manip & Code by Kit. Stock from Dawnthieves