Private, Montidora Rain, again. It seemed as if the weather decided to change every second day, first sun, then rain, then sun, then rain again. Maybe the weather gods couldn't make up their mind. The ivory femme chuckled silently at the thought. As if they existed anyways. Sometimes, like now, she wondered if there was some higher power that decided what happened to everyone. If there was, she was unsatisfied with hers. But she guessed she could thank him (or her, or it) for at least one thing; the beauty of the lands that Mew seemed to encounter wherever she went. At first she had not expected these new lands to be able to match the splendor of Clouded Tears, but that was before she found this little harbor. The three-year-old female had always loved the ocean, and here she could sit safely on top of the human-made construction, and simply watch it as it played with the seagulls. Somehow the rain made it just as beautiful as bright sun would; it created a misty feeling of the view, almost like fog. And it wasn't uncomfortably cold either, so the rain didn't bother her much, despite her fur hanging and clinging to her body. She didn't bother to shake it loose either. One of these days, when the sun came out, she would go here to take a bath. Her voice hummed an old lullaby in a foreign language; she had forgotten where she knew it from. Mew stared on, with her tail wrapped around her haunches as she sat, wagging it in tiny movements along with the rhythm of the tune. Byssan lull koka kittelen full, det kommer tre vandringsmenn på vegen. |
[/html]