littlewing
Her eyes were cast down, as she looked at the ice, cracked but solid, pressed down over the grass, preserved in a writhing, swirling pattern, clearly visible until the ice was crushed by her foot. Splintering out from the gash she made, it formed it's own fractal pattern. She lost herself in this world of simple line and colour, and then her foot slid, and with a whoosh she slipped.