Blacktail Deer Plateau she is standing right in front of me.

It was not the first time that Harlyn had suffered from her migraines, and she was quite certain that it would not be the last.  To others it might have seemed like a mere medical condition, but the druid quite firmly believed that it was a sign from the spirits - a warning of ill tidings.  Since that first ache had splintered through her skull, she had been nervous for whatever the gods had brewing for the fates of their children.  She had seen it come in torrential storms, in terrible illness and fatal accidents.  But what it had translated to this time was something she had not expected.

Harlyn had been fortunate enough to escape the fire that had ravaged part of the pack's territory without coming to any physical harm.  The fear she'd felt not knowing where Mordecai was or if he was safe was unlike any she'd ever known, but so was the pain that ravaged her head and made her incapable of actually searching for him.  In the days that followed the fire, the pain had slowly ebbed away to the dull ache that she now suffered as she stepped tenderly on the outskirts of the wreckage.  It was painful for the druid to see the earth in ruins like this, but hers was not a faith so easily shaken by tragedy.

She paused for just a moment then, looking down at the ashes beneath her paws.  With a deep breath, she sighed and shut her eyes to say a silent prayer to the gods, whispering a single phrase of comfort to herself: "Tá sé seo i gcás ina muid ag cur tús arís..."