Deepwood Weald let the dead bury the dead and they'll come out in droves

By now she knew the tangled wood well. It stood between her and the sea, and it was most direct to cut through it when she ventured north. From time to time she recalled the strange magic that had taken place here, amid the writhing vines and curling roots where she had found the bone. She recalled the ghostly figure of her father, brilliant and white in the muddied light of the wood, and the howling warriors he led to hunt her down. She shuddered at the memory, then startled as a wolf called out to catch her attention.

Ragna turned swiftly, not keen on being caught off guard. She stopped midstride, allowing the male to come to her while she sized him up. Unafraid and silent she stood, posture cautious but not unwelcome.