The chill of Mas has only just begun to release its hold on the lands, but the air carries with it still a bitter chill, reaching striaght into the core of any who venture outside for any length of time.
Despite this, there is a figure that has been outside for some hours. Against the great grey back of a large boulder there leans a woman. This woman is dressed in a thick cloak against the cold, a cloak that is of every color and no color at once, a deep, blue-violet-green-gray. The hood is drawn up over her head as she hunches against the great stone, and there is a rhythmic pattern of white clouds forming in front of the hood, her breath in the chill air.
A great bird, a raven or a falcon perhaps, lands suddenly on the top of the rock. Though it makes no sound, the woman half-rises and turns to look at the bird. She lowers her hood slowly, and a cascade of the richest, silkiest cobalt-black hair falls across her shoulders, the waning sunlight highlighting it in grandest royal blues. She must whisper something to the bird, for the concentration of breath visible in front of her lips increases. Her skin in the leaving light is ivory-white, and from a distance she might even appear a statue. From closer up, however, color blazes from her coral lips and her deep, blue-violet eyes. Her motions are entirely graceful as she stretches her finger forth towards the bird. One finger, escaping from her cowl, is pure-white and long, graceful. It strokes over the bird's forehead once, briefly, and another cloud of breath leaves her lips. Then, though the bird seems to have made no response, the woman bows her head for a brief moment, and then pulls her hood up again. The bird flies away, and the woman comes to a full stand, and walks west.
Chill evening
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