Lost Creek Hollow and drew warmth of blood from bone

Wardruna slips from Easthollow’s borders again, for the sake of disappearing beneath their ever vigilant eye. The hovering grates at every and all of his nerves and he feels like it was grown gradually worse. It will matter little soon, he thinks. He will free Noma and leave Easthollow — and she will have to chose: follow him of her own free will or remain behind in the hovering of the Easthollow wolves. He tells her not to follow him today: he wants to be alone and he suspects that she wants that too. Wardruna doesn’t know for sure, of course, and he doesn’t ask her. It is a subtle preparation for what he thinks will come: for he is not so sure that when he frees her that his thrall will not wander off the die somewhere. It causes sorrow to flutter about in his chest but it is her choice, it is her life. For the moment, Wardruna turns thoughts away from his thrall.

A choice made just in time to see a woman lowering herself in the ( no doubt ) icy cold waters of the Creek. Wardruna observes at first, mostly curious, wondering if it is some sort of ritual or if she looks to soothe an aching pain, perhaps and then wonder becomes perplexity as she all but submerges herself. He has not made to quiet his heavy footfalls upon the hardened earth but he lets out a chuff to announce his presence to her nevertheless — in case his steps fell upon distracted ears.

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