WIP Untitled
The wind was picking up. It rattled through bronze-green wind chimes, looped through wet grass, and whipped through a solitary figure’s silvery hair. She sat on a mossy stone outside a dilapidated cabin – rotting planks and worn stone masonry; beside her, the remnants of a claymore glowed and hummed with the passing of the air. The large talisman attuned her ability to harness the wind into focused crescents of force. But whatever affinity she had for wind manipulation was eclipsed by the incoming gale; the wind was particularly devoted to the hunter and it mirrored his turbulent emotions. He knew where she was and she was tired of running. Perhaps this was the last time she would come to the small dojo, she thought as she slipped into a brief reverie as she had been taught to.