Otter Creek song of the merrows

Beyond powers she could possibly fathom, it appeared as though a giant had taken a plow to the land in a wild tantrum. And as slight and quick-footed as she was, maneuvering through the once lucid meadow proved to be a challenge and tiresome. Dying of thirst, the creek was a welcome scene, although the small channels of water had also been devastated. Littlest turned her maw upward and observed the heights of Sawtooth Spire, theorizing instantaneously that they were the cause for the large boulders that had clattered and intermittent the otherwise smooth flow of water. Since this “attack” seemed so recent she stepped cautiously, her ears poised upwards towards the rocky roof above. 

Despite her precautious stature, the smallest of the Seelie Court found herself preoccupied with a myriad of other problems, the most prominent of which was not present. And that was the problem. The last she’d seen of her grandfather had been in these Wilds, nearly a year before. She’d searched for him high and low, that flame of hope dwindling day by day into nothing but an ember. When she’d given up her search and returned back to her homeland, she been sent out again. She couldn’t return, “not without his body” her grandmother had shrieked snapping at her heels in a grief stricken rage.
 
Even now the memory made Littlest nauseous as she lifted her lips from the cold creek.