The Sentinels even the stones have cried from the songs i now sing

to my furst luv in the rp world

her father was gone. deirdre was spent and tired and the times she had energy, she wept. the wound was fresh and as ugly as any open sore, and though it lay on her heart it was not invisible. she wandered through donnelaith feeling empty and desolate, and she did not know what to do. emaleth had gone, left, and had bid her not to follow. deirdre yearned to disobey her and do just that, though she understood in some way the necessity of being alone. the forest was grand, and she sought some small corner to hide within for a while.