cormac's notebook. (curagad) wrote in emillion, |
Her footsteps were soft upon the bed of grass as she approached the small clearing, eyes roaming for that familiar spot. Surely that collection of shrubbery would be near. This had been where the party had taken their break, so the bush would be-- ah, there.
Gripping the box a little more tightly, Ridley approached on quiet (hesitant) feet, soon pausing and lowering the dreamhare toward the ground. As she dropped into a crouch, she exhaled shakily. This was it. This would be goodbye, for she'd never be able to recognize Lysa out in the wild, not with so many that resembled her in species. Every dreamhare would spark a memory, perhaps even a little hope, but they wouldn't be her.
Just as every tall, blonde woman was not her mother.
She smoothed her fingers along the top of the box, listening to her charge shift within, and closed her eyes to the breeze.