reaching toward the sun (p, contest)
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♥. . <333 wc: 431+


Since her meeting with Jefferson at Gardenia Grove, Arye had thought a lot about what he had said. Other than the “forbidden word,” many things about that short conversation really stuck with the cream colored femme. Although she was young, she knew that she could still be of use. Although she had not reached the landmark of one whole year of life, she knew that she could not claim the guileless irresponsibility of childhood. The young Cybelle lady was not without motivation, but she was without direction. She did not know how exactly she could prove herself to Jefferson, but the intensity of their conversation made it clear to her that she should do something. But what could she do?

She had learned from Pripyat that a terrible storm had ravaged most of the structures that made up Phoenix Valley. As she picked her way through the sites of damage, Arye tried to picture what they might have been like whole. She imagined what it must have been like not to know the extent of the damage, when snow had buried most of the visual cues that could have given members of the Valley pack a real idea of the damage that had been done.

Arye cast yellow eyes over an abandoned pile of debris, wood, and nails. What had they been trying to do? Phoenix Valley had not been her home for long, and she was still getting used to the fact that she had one. The information was slow to sink in, but as she surveyed the damage done to the old barn and ranch house, she began to feel as if they belonged to her, if only a little. She had never known them in their state of completion, but she could help them to become whole again.

Arye did not know anything about construction. Looking back on her experience, she came to the conclusion that she knew absolutely nothing that would help her to actually actively contribute to rebuilding, at least not without some help from an outside source. The cream colored girl returned to the abandoned pile of building and construction materials, then peered over the wreckage to the hole where the roof had once been. She knelt beside it, running her hands uncertainly over the different materials. Her finger caught on a nail, and she frowned as she drew her hand away. She really hadn’t the slightest inkling of how to begin. So, she decided to begin sorting out the materials. Perhaps if they were more organized, there would be a clearer path of action.





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