| Based on | Click to view |
| Artist | avriie [gallery] |
| Time spent | 35 minutes |
| Drawing sessions | 2 |
| 10 people like this | Log in to vote for this drawing |
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How did they hurt their nose?












mars has the kindest aura on earth. ever since he can remember anyone and everyone has called him a wise, old soul. quick to forgive and help, slow to anger and hurt. he loves every single thing life has to offer - from dirt, to birds, to rivers, to the clouds. so, naturally, the forest has always felt like home to him - away from all the noise of societal life and the negativity that can bring such a pure being down. for mars, the forest in autumn is la creme de la creme. everything is beautiful in shades of amber, sandstone and cinnamon, every peaceful animal enjoying the quiet breeze alongside him. he shares something with the earth that no one else could ever experience - a connection so deep he hurts when the earth hurts, and rejoices the earth rejoices. one particular autumn day, he was laying on his back in a sunspot, on a cliff high up in the mountains, just above the dark ginger forest he feels so comfortable in. his eyes had been closed, enjoying the serene, tingly effect the sunrays warmed his soul. when he slowly opened his eyes to gaze at the world around him, he saw a dead thornbush sitting a few feet closer to the edge. something inside the tangle of sharp brambles caught his eye - a glimmer of golden yellow. he rolled onto his feet, stretched and pranced over to the somber bush, curiosity grappling his mind. a closer look revealed a small flower, struggling to survive - half its petals were wilted and crumbling, as only tiny specks of sunlight made it through the wild branches of thorns. although mars knew the flower wasn't sentient, he couldn't help but feel a pull from deep within to help the little being live. and so he did - and not without battle scars. pawing his way carefully through the brambles proved no easy task, and once he had made a sizeable hole in the bush that allowed full sunlight to filter onto the plant. the most notable scathe was a gash on the top of his snout that was pink and raw. he had winced when the thorn had dragged across his snout, but he still knew it was worth it in the end. as he sat back and admired the golden flower, he could've sworn he saw it shift every so slightly up towards the sun - and that was what gently blew away any shadow of regret.















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