Stavanger Bay Somehow we're strangers, but share this pain

Her name was Wren, and she lived in the Valley.
Reverie had spent hours in the water contemplating the vile nature of what she'd almost done, washing the blood from herself, the imagined scent of Wren's heat. When she was certain all trace of it was gone from her, she'd rolled in herbs and flowers for an extra measure. Lestan could never know. It had only happened once, and so she was certain this time she could hide it... but even so, she kept a slight distance from him when she returned, afraid that he would smell it on her.
Reverie took to improving the oceanside cave they called home, the way she thought Lestan would want to if he was well. She wanted to make it a place of liveliness, so she decided she would make things grow there, and even enlisted Blossom's help (mostly to keep her daughter entertained). It was perhaps a different approach than what her husband would have done, but she hoped he would like it. Transplants; whatever flora she could make thrive in and around their den. Moss to soften their floor, ferns to shroud the entrance, vines to creep up the sides of the cave. It would take time, of course. But she had plenty of that.