Morana (4)

I looked at the clock. 12:36 am it read. I grabbed my cloak and my shoes and stared outside. I walked through the thick forest, finding my stone creek. I touched the limestone carefully, not let the jagged edges cut my pale skin. The rock was smooth, expect for the edges. The creek made me clam and I sat down next to the edge of the creek. I used my hood of my cloak as a pillow, closing my blue eyes. I feel asleep to the rhythm of the creek. It was making soft music; a soft lullaby.