The Tangle there are fires

Nightmares made her sleepless, and beneath the moonlight, Emaleth slipped beyond the borders of Donnelaith. She had dreamt of dark shapes moving through the wood, and of embers on her father's grave— but it was the shock of darkness consuming her twin like a rot that had awoken Emaleth, her heart racing.

She had come of age in the night— she did not know the exact timing, only that it was near or already past. There was no signal in her body, no abrupt change to alert her. There was simply an emptiness where Deirdre had been, and confusion too. The dark yearling always assumed they would celebrate their first year of life together, but there were hundreds of miles and weeks in between them. There was no way to know if the wolves from the Depths had bothered to tell Deirdre of her location or wellbeing. Emaleth had not trusted them as neighbors, and certainly trusted them less now— it was their doing that her sister had become twisted, submitting the sovereignty of Donnelaith to infiltrators.

Emaleth had failed to protect both Deirdre and Donnelaith, and it was that failure, too, from which she had run.

Finding some solace in the tangle of forest and stone, the dark witch searched in the dark for any foliage that may grow hidden there.