Marrow
flowers growing in my lungs
The loamy smell of twigs and earth, of grass and plants—more plants than she's ever seen in her life—nearly overwhelms her. Her strides are slow and hesitant, head tilted back and pointed up in the air as the nose beneath her gemstone sniffs away, leaves crunching beneath her hooves.
Never—never in her life did she ever think there could be this many plants in one room. The vibrant greens of leaves, ferns, and lichens, the darker tones of moss climbing up tree trunks; it's almost overwhelming, compared to her home cave. She's aware that the cave of bones is barren, deathly compared to other places, where more often than not her magic will fail her not because of any fault on her part, but simply because of the lack of seeds to grow between the cracks… but this is something else entirely.
Light from above peers through the treetop canopy, motes of light glinting off of her reflective skull; a few times, Marrow gets an errant beam in her eyes, and has to blink the spots away, unused to the brightness after so long spent in the dim, shallow cave of Canis.
The cave is massive. Winding paths snake out all ahead of her, and Marrow has no idea where to start.
Perhaps with a little test…?
Marrow's eyes flutter shut. Her breathing slows, becoming shallow; as she draws on the magic at her core, she begins to sway.
And, the plants? In a small circle around her, bordering the little path she's decided to walk down—they begin to sway as well. Dancing alongside her in an invisible breeze, ferns and herbs moving in tune to the beat of a silent song.
Then, just like that, Marrow opens her eyes, and they stop.
A smile comes to her face, fangs and all.
She thinks she likes this place.
She can't let the wonder of this place—the newness of it all, the smell of sap and dew and fresh leaves—distract her from what she's here for, however.
She's here for materials. As much as she had searched and searched and searched, Canis simply wasn't the place to go for anything flexible. She needs something thick, yet pliable enough to shape without having to resort to unsteady, new magic. She needs leaves. Big leaves.
But as she walks beneath the forest canopy, she quickly comes to the realization that she is simply a little deer, and the leaves she wants, fresh and new, are far, far above her.
Marrow lets herself step off the path and circles the base of a particularly promising tree, humming to herself in quiet thought. Now, how is she going to figure this one out?