Bathsheba,
Lioness of Junior Member
Played by glass
♛


The mist blanketed the crimson woman in a softly shaded veil of milky white. Occasionally, the haze would thicken to a drizzle laden with the threat of proper rain, but then noon sunbeams lanced through, returning the skies again to the light, spectral mist. So much water, but nothing to drink. She mused. Hazy, damp, cold; the unusual weather reminded the damsel of just how far she was from home, and she let herself long - if only for a moment - for the contrast of her motherland's dry heat. The warped haze of high noon's warmth rising from the sands, the divine relief of the cool, crystal waters of the oasis against her skin. But nature was cruel to those who forsook the present for the past, and she choked away those thoughts to push onward.

The search for water drove the lionness deep into the highlands, where the air was chilled, and the gusts brought with them foreign scents and the promise of winter. Her legs lofted her briskly over rugged foothills and tall grasses, the stalks leaning with the cool autumn wind. Bathsheba crested a stony ridge, her eyes narrowing to pale, crescent slivers of blue as she turned to face the wind, surveying the low slung hills that rolled down at her feet. Jagged stones formed a mosaic staggered along the lonely hills, and a flock of sparrows tittered amongst themselves as they picked through bristling grasses.

Was it was frustration at having failed to find what she sought? Perhaps it was the primitive need to break the stifling monotony. With little thought, the red predator dripped gracefully from the hill, dropping into a fluid lope and into the throng of birds. Though she easily could have caught one by the wing between her teeth, the young lionness let them fly away unscathed. A roiling cloud of brown and black writhed back into the mist, chattering angrily as they exploded away. She watched her handiwork with some small measure of satisfaction, eventually pivoting on a dark heel to resume her search.