Jade Fern Grove [m] cause i'm just one of those ghosts

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Heat

It had started two nights prior. Bedbound with sluggish limbs and nauseated by just the thought of eating. There was a spark of worry when it turned to fever. Warmth radiating throughout her body. She was keen to sleep off whatever illness afflicted her, had she been able to sleep at all. So she dragged herself to her feet and left for an cool evening walk.

And kept walking.

Some of the fatigue abated with movement, albeit not all. But the night air did not free her from the burning beneath her skin. She stopped for respite briefly in the Overture Downs and slept the day away half submerged in a shallow stream. Her travel continued upon waking.

Vale was not oblivious to a woman's season, but she hadn't placed much thought into her own. She hadn't paid much mind to her body the year prior. Perhaps it was brushed off with travel fatigue as she made her way to the Teekons. Although, she was certain she never felt this before.

It seemed she could not outrun this fire. So she continued north. Choosing solitude over her home in Kvarsheim. The young leaders did not need to deal with any attention her heat would bring to their home. Nor did she want any attention from her packmates, even if she did trust them. Heat, generally, was not a well-kept secret.

She had run herself ragged upon reaching the fern grove. The trees reached for the night sky above as a mossy stretch on the forest floor called for her to rest her head. With a huff, she lowered herself to the ground.

When she found sleep to be illusive yet again, Vale sat up with a frustrated groan. Irritation pinpricked its way across her skin. How did almost every woman deal with yearly? She directed her ire towards the disheveled portions of her coat.

At least, for the moment, she was alone.

For @Andras

vale i'm so sorry

but she was not alone.
andras was lucky to have reached her first. the scent came to him from miles away, and he was quick to sneak from the iron curtain of the bypass before one of the little boys prancing about in rivenwood thought to spread more of their seed, as if they hadn't done so enough.
it was his turn.
he was not keen on recreating what had happened with the red-faced whore from months before. instead, he upholds his mountain shelter persona; he walks with gentle steps, he keeps his head down. hopefully this one would be more receptive, as she ought to be.
when he gets a good look at her, he is not displeased. she is small, frail; it looks as though her season has not been kind to her, which is a shame, but he cannot discern just how good or bad of stock she will make quite yet.
pardon me, miss, he peers from between the trees, the hum of crickets chirping alongside him. he puts on his best gentle façade; he reaches his white-robed arm out toward her, offering her the touch of holiness. are you alright?

She jolts upright when the shadows learn to speak. Eyes rounded as they dart towards the source of the sound. The voice. The— the question?

Golden eyes land upon the murky silhouette between the trees. The break within the long cast shadows by the grove was accompanied by a pair of metallic eyes. Heart pounding against her ribs, the hair along her neck blades.

No, she wasn't alone.

She squints through the darkness, taking a step forward. Nose twitching, she did not recognize the scent he wore. His pack was foreign to her. Another step. Did a pack live nearby? She was certain the grove lacked any markers. Was she too close?

She almost forgets herself. Her condition.

Ears airplaning, she takes several paces back. Her gaze never fully leaving the stranger.

I am well, sir. Thank you.

She collects herself, ears setting forward. Chin lifted ever so slightly to hide her uncertainty, although her eyes would betray her. Was that all he wanted?

she is wary. he loved when he could smell the fear rolling off of their backs; but now is not the time, here is not the place.
here, he is amadeo. here, he is a retired general turned priest. here, he is kind, thoughtful, passive. he is the shepherd these fat-breasted cows need. his lip curls into a small smile as he pads a few inches closer to her. forgive me for being forward, but, i-- ah, couldn't help but notice your... affliction.
he doesn't posture like he typically would, but does not shy away either. he leans closer to gather a taste of her scent, where she is coming from and where she will go, belly round with his spawn. he is innocently curious, perhaps a little hopeful. do you come here in search of a man?