[Hidalgo]

@Kiri

#997a8d
Where you go, she casts no shadow
Still you know she's near

Just as the tar seeps up from the ground. She was, after all, a bitter dancer. Was she not? This new found home was still strange and new, their ways different from other places she had been, but there was that need to thrive. It was a curse in the blood no doubt, her bloodline always managed to split and multiply, always finding the need to fill every cavity of whatever they inhabited. Like a disease of the flesh, or a virus. Some fates one simply couldn't escape. The Valley proved too crowded a pool, but this one... hmm, one could actually dip one's toes in.

A field of thistles and wild flowers dotting all along the coarse green grass, boxed in by tall and hardy pines and spruces, their budding pine cones only just beginning to sprout. Spring would soon be sprung, and the cycle would repeat. Even still, it was far warmer inland, memory drifting off to the valley protected by the wide mountain range. Their springs were mild and their summers unbearable. It had been a cool spring in Saboro, and her bones warned her of a mild summer. The sun would leave it's chaste warm kiss, and then without even seeing a bit of autumn, they'd slide from summer to winter.  

The blue female made a face at this thought as she laid, lazily among the flowers. Amber eyes glancing to a pristine, clear cloudless sky. The far off mountain peaks topped with their hats of white, colors dulled and faded into a soft blur of blue against the bright light color of the sky. High above came a cry, and Hidalgo's vision searched for it. A falcon soared and cried once more before fading off against the mountains. Far away the falcon flew. And that part of her, that longing desire through unrest and stillness, flew with it.

Claws digging into the loose dirt, she'd pull herself up and shake out her coat, turning her head to a familiar face. Ah ha. Bright amber eyes aglow, and that plain faced expression was quick to flip and twist into a smirk. "My Rosa how-" She caught herself then, pupils turning into pin pricks, and the scruff of her neck bristling. What facet were you letting slip this time? Who's memories were they really? "Pardon, Sabor." That's what they were called here, head dipping slightly, but deep down something screeched Red Rose. "How can, little ol me, help you this fine day."