Phoenix Maplewood you are a forest fire, set the world aflame

The scents of the maplewood had faded drastically since she last stood in the territory. It still remains hauntingly empty, a skeleton of a former empire; a history she could not quite decipher. She’s past a few landmarks she thought might have been important, once upon a time, but are not lost and forgotten in the wake of safety. Relief had bubbled in her chest that day, when she discovered they were gone, but the warrior—and perhaps even Heda—had felt a little disappointed. Their wrath had not been met, they did not carry back a story of their battle to put fear in others, but for the time being no one had to know. 

The lack of bloodstain in the maplewood doesn’t make her victory any less important. They had fled because of her. Thuringwethil tries to play out the scene in her head had they not left, where blood would have been shed or bodies had been dropped, if they’d shown up on the Phoenix doorstep and met an army of wolves. She can barely decipher what might have happened but she moves, occasionally investigating a den or area that draws her attention for something she might could use. They wouldn’t have been able to carry everything in their possession, but she’d occasionally come across a few bones hidden away, a rotting cache forgotten, and a handful of dried herbs she has no clue of their purpose.