Deepwood Weald immolation

deirdre was thoughtful for a moment before she responded to the others question, choosing honesty: a dream brought me to these woods, came her voice filled with warmth, though i live within donnelaith--the forest that neighbors this one. she gestured in the general direction donnelaith was, fondness seeping into her voice as she spoke of home. the other continued to speak and deirdre listened, rapt, her eyes and nose both now seeking any sign of harm to the others wellbeing. pale ears lined with pink, cupping 'round the words spoken by the stranger. the other was lovely to the youth, and there was something more that drew deirdre to her, an energy--or aura--she was familiar with but could not yet put a name to. forests can play cruel tricks, and her voice was not filled with any ire at all. the woods grow lonely, and terribly bored. it is a true treat for the trees to see new faces, but if you listen well, they will tell you the way out; if you watch what little traces of light they let seep through their branches, you can see the pathway for yourself. the trees rustling leaves seemed to breathe a sigh of confirmation to this, and deirdre smiled.