Post by featheredwings on Nov 23, 2010 10:48:30 GMT -5
*Brath leaned forward slightly, scanning the coating of virgin snow. In places the beauty was marred by a determined clump of wiry grass whose tips just broke the surface, like a needle sliding through cloth. She ruffled her mottled tan wings and reviewed the area once more from her perch on top of a blackened beam. She fluffed her feathers for what seemed like the fiftieth time and settled down to wait for another half hour or so, reflecting on the affects of the weather on business. Theoretically the need for messengers was higher, because woodlanders could only make slow progress in the snow, and her wings gave her the definite advantage, but often enough her potential employers simply planned on being cut off in the winter. If nobeast passed by soon, taking advantage of the temporarily quiet weather, she would have to head back to the abbey and spend another day doing odd jobs there... and keeping warm.*