she, the brindling sand that shifts under dry wind. just as imperceptible, just as moved under harsh conditions, just as freely roaming. chani finds comfort against the high planed rocks which blister whatever skin touches their jagged expanses; it is there that she is perched with her legs folded beneath her, fingers outstretched in want for the thinning dust that climbs her seat like a gritty shoreline. and from this spot does she regard her company with an otherwise guarded mein.
the light overhead turns, an ever - present revolve which would bleach the ground beneath them; it remains red as ever, glittering in its seduction. chani catches granules under her fingernails as she straightens her spine and sits up. ❝ a storm is never gone. ❞ wise words borne of grief. she still looks indifferent, despite her moroseness. ❝ not truly. there are always storms. perhaps the last makes you better prepared for the next. ❞
@dinopunching ↝ "the storm passed through us and around us, it's gone, but we remain."