Darkness cascades through the dimly lit trees, menacing the appearance of every little fibre that dares to take it’s place in the land. That is where a young girl sits, sixteen years old maybe, sharpening a shining silver blade against a rock. Her blonde hair looks nearly brown beneath all the dirt that clings to each individual strand, and her face is coated with smears of a black paste that appears to be some kind of plant extract made into paint. Glowing blue eyes focus on the sword and the rock, but the subtle c r a c k of a branch in the depths of the trees causes her concentration to avert from her work, and her stature to change drastically. Quietly dropping the rock on the wet soil below, the blonde flips her black hood over her head and tucks her hair back where it is nearly unnoticeable. She grips the sword in one hand, and darts into a near patch of thin bushes awaiting the creator of the sound to step forth.
▣▣ volatilebird ▣▣