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[justify][font=arial] This place reeks of chaos.
She cannot see, hear what goes on beyond the borders but feels the buzz that rumbles through the air, the palpable tension that pulls the body and mind this way and that. She is not drawn to it for the pleasure - it's the determination that sets her will in stone, the need to heal this fragile and broken place that makes her think, This will be my home. There are things lied buried in this place that ask for her to unearth them, to put the pieces back together and make the clan whole again. She'd like to think that it is her destiny. That anyone could overthrow a leader or make new rules but only she can love them.
It's a flighty thought, made mostly of daydreams pieced together from the time she's spent studying the clan, but the idea of doing good comforts her. It is, in the end, the most loyal friend she has.
She lights upon the ground like a fallen feather, a flower petal, dying autumn leaves. The grass flutters, slightly, before settling around her paws as if taking care not to touch them. It happens, at times, when she isn't paying attention; the world passes right through her. Or she passes through it, perhaps. Her face is soft, sloping, almost tired. She must rest; she believes she must, but in this form she knows her body can forgo all necessities for it is already dead. But, it feels nice to act as the living would. Another comfort that has clung to her for longer than she can remember (or would like to).
Blackorchid hums quietly, turning her face up to the sun and feeling the rays pass through her face, catching in the wispy tendrils that pour off her body in waves. She wants to feel its warmth but cannot; at least it's easy to imagine. There are borders but it doesn't stop her from passing over them, her thin body gliding easily over the sun-dappled land. If she were in a physical form she might've waited far behind, but knowing she was untouchable and thus free from all physical harm, breaking rules came so much more easily.
