(Open Rp)
The rays of the mid-morning sun struggled to peak through the ominous billowing mass that was quickly forming above her. Only several miles from a village, judging by the light columns of smoke that spiraled into the air--hopefully from a bakery, Thistle hitched her bag higher on her shoulder, jostling the small bird griffin nestled into the fur of her jacket, and sped up.
“Hopefully, we can avoid the storm,” She whispered to her small friend, looking nervously towards the clouds. With a huff and a pull of her jacket strings, she set off traveling faster than her usual leisurely pace. It was too late, however, as with a thunderous rumble the sky began pouring rain onto the poor girl. There was a yelp and a chirp as she stumbled, before taking cover under the branches of a nearby tree.
