First ❅ Snowflake {Meghan}

.// cassandra freya larker

Off-paced footings on the sooty, dusty pavements roads ― since the stone-ridden crude surface weren't that much to speak of―

[/color] of the Seam lead no remarkable sound, and that's how Cassandra wanted it. This was no time for the uncalled for grace and poise. There weren't that many residents prancing around this five o'clock in the afternoon although the mines had long ended the work shifts around four-thirty. A few dark-haired, steel-eyed persons maybe, but not quite a lot. She was en route to her safe heaven, to the Meadow, where else but the lone willow tree by the snagged-cut grass fields with wild plants that were mostly edible and could be enough to go through a week, if you knew where to find them.

She readjusted her grip on the time-worn, weather-stained woven basket that held nothing else but her book, a sketch pad and pieces of blunt charcoal pencils that were now short and stubby from numerous artworks, which most never saw the light of say ever again. Later on, they would have to make room for greens and dandelions for salad, and maybe a few good nuts that carelessly ended up on her side of the fence. The willow tree was only a few yards away from the fences of District Twelve, but Cassandra never attempted or bothered with the world outside of that. I can't leave my Grandmother alone.[/color]

It was a rare moment that she hadn't dragged along with her her leather shoulder bag. It was frayed and expectantly worn on the littlest of places, but its leather was still supple and sturdy enough to lag along her extra materials. Maybe a few bits of coloring pencils, another book, some extra pieces of the fabrics that the fabric shop owner generously gave to her and a scarf that she had help knit with her Grandmother last year. But she was a tad late, with a trip to the market for today's dinner and a stop at the apothecary for a few herbs that was all she could afford. Grandmother hadn't sound well at all with her inadequate breathing patterns this dawn and haggard-looking eyes that were quite dim in comparison to last month's. I hate to think about it, but I'm the only one ever there for her.[/color] Her mind drifted off to the little pouch of what remaining monetary value of she had left for survival. It was hidden in that corner underneath her mattress and tried to remember how much money was left. Not enough.[/color] She didn't even need to exactly count the ones remaining left. She shook her head free of the saddening thoughts, trying to take her mind off about it for a while. She continued her walk towards her destination, albeit comfortable to be frank. Cassandra hadn't worn her sweater for the most wildest of reasons, and the cold, skin-freezing numb wind had been disgustingly cruel for some reason today. She could feel her nose clogging up (her body wasn't acting on its best during the colder months of the year), the atmosphere too think for her. She quickened her pace, not to be disheartened by the current weather, which seemed minuscule and nonthreatening in comparison to what the heavens may have in store for her. Winters in the Seam wasn't the most comfortable nor the most kind, and this one wasn't any different. She had seen the woods far beyond the fence with a blanket of fresh snow over them, and it was a wonderful sight, an inspiration for her two paintings that she made. While the idea of a winter wonderland is fascinating at first, most especially to young children, it showed its other side ― unforgiving and cruel in the Seam people's eyes. It brought dropping temperatures, resulting in possible hypothermia when the thin, tattered fabrics (or lack thereof) of their clothes wasn't enough, the cold bringing in a heightened appetite with a half-fed stomach to top, and wet, cold roads which brought discomfort for the olden shoes which treacherously invited in ice-cold dampness, or at the most worse case ― a clumsy slip which will cause bones breaking and jobs halted.

Cassandra stopped short when she noticed the first snowflake fall from the dark skies right before her very eyes and cupped her both hands to guide it near her puckered lips, and blew it farther away before it could touch the tip of her nose. She felt her lips curve up slowly into a nostalgic smile, and only realized that she had arrived in the Meadow. The waning light gave way to the entering darkness, but never made the Meadow nor the willow tree a dark, eerie ambiance. Not to Cassandra, at least. Its my haven.[/color] The fields that were once green was drying up slowly, hiding its leaves from the dreaded cold. She decided to pick once she will be heading home and headed for the willow. Getting used to the fact that she was only ever the one that was always there, she let a dim light shine through the cracks of the walls around her, and skipped-walked her way. Cassandra lifted her head, only a few meters away from the tree until she noticed a figure sitting on the base, were the protruding large roots met the soil. She stopped right in her tracks. We only have ourselves. But not this time.[/color][/color][/justify]

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