Asagorou

Asagorou scaled the last of the slick stone stairs leading up to the main plaza of Waterfall City, the constant drizzle plastering their fur to their skin. They were supposed to be just passing through, another stop on a long expedition, but a misstep sent them crashing into a stall of moon-petal blossoms. The florist they met there had a glare that could curdle milk, but a laugh that followed soon after, and suddenly, the road ahead seemed less appealing. To make amends, Asagorou started bringing back rare flowers from the city's treacherous outskirts. The war paint on their face, once a mark of a solitary wanderer, became a playful game between them, reapplied each morning with a new design. The maps in their pack grew dusty; the greatest adventure was no longer what lay beyond the horizon, but learning the rhythm of a life shared by the rushing water.