Falls of the Hinterlands But something rustled on the floor

All that the mist did was bring tears pricking at the corners of Saena's eyes. Whether it was some sort of buried sentiment or the sting of water, she couldn't say. There had been a waterfall like this in one of her homes, she recalled, but she no longer knew which one. She'd had so many homes, and had her suspicions that even her latest would not be her last.

She was startled by the sudden sound of a scuffle, and when a jet black shape darted past far too close for her comfort, her hackles rose and she snarled instinctively. The puff of her chest announced her willingness to fight for her safety, but the figure wasn't aiming for her. The realization did little to comfort her and only served to smooth her hackles out a little as she watched Sjáseiðr shoot into the underbrush in pursuit of... well, Saena hadn't seen it. Maybe she was pursuing nothing at all.

Whatever the case, when Sjáseiðr re-emerged from the brush with her eyes on the falls, a disgruntled and startled Saena grumbled, "what's your problem?"