steam rising from the gravel on the road
#5
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Thanks! I’ve been admiring yours intermittently as well. Tongue


Nikita grinned in a slightly nervous fashion, rubbing the back of her head with a hand that still held the bow for the instrument. She didn’t handle praise well at all — personally she felt that she wasn’t deserving of it. “Uh, thanks.” She always had such perfect manners! She put the bow in her lap, swiveling the cello on its thin stand so that it could lean much more comfortably against one propped-up knee. She sighed, grateful to be in a position slightly more comfortable than before. She was quiet for a moment, her olive gaze on the dark-furred wolf before her, before she flicked her eyes towards the place where she imagined the wolf had come from. “You came from the beach?” she said absent-mindedly, fashioning the statement into a question mid-way through. It made sense, with the scent of salt-water that accompanied hers, and yet she wondered what she was doing against the shore here. She had gotten a view a while back — there was barely any sand, only rocks. A perfect place to get smashed against the rocks if one wasn’t careful.
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