The Sentinels to rest in gardens and wake in crypts

deirdre lay in a heap at the forests center, entangled in all matters of earth--root, thorn, soil, and branch--simply breathing. she listened to the wind, listened for the voice of her father, but she heard it not. the world was still. around her there were birds that settled into a sleep on the tree surrounding her, and some rested even on the earth near her. the loss of her father was the worst devastation she had ever experienced; for the earth would return, but her father would not. and with him went emaleth, who lived and breathed still but had gone, too, and asked not to be followed. deirdre would not, could not, leave donnelaith; she felt capable of very little, and though she loved and was surrounded by love, she felt terribly alone. only eilidh surely knew of her pain and felt the acute and unbearable sting of it... but deirdre had not thought to seek her out. the truth of it was, she could hardly think at all. after her fathers last breath, even her mind had abandoned her for a time. that was not to say she had gone crazy--for she was very much sane. she simply was not present. and up until now, she could not have been found.

she felt years older. though she rest in the earth herself, it was a strange area indeed she rest in; donnelaith had itself a new faerie circle. hawthornes surrounded her--witches of olde, she felt she had once heard--and she blinked tiredly at her surroundings. she roused, and her heart hurt. the birds around her started, though only looked to her. deirdre had never harmed them before, and in fact had only sought to aid these avian creatures. their nearness was a small comfort, but 'twas not enough. deirdre was not sure if anything would ever be as sweet as once things had been, and rest her head morosely upon her forelegs.