Deepwood Weald immolation

The more she watched the nymph-like girl, the more Saga came to understand. She saw the flicker of interest in her eyes, the adoration, a serene sort of connectedness, and felt a strange pang of jealousy. While the darker of the pair could not relate to this bizarre affinity towards the natural world, she was finding herself more and more covetous of such a connection; it was not something taught to her by her peers, her mother had never been very holistic in her ways, so Saga had never experienced the world with any great spirituality. Perhaps spirituality was the wrong word? But this other wolf, this ghost, she seemed so at ease, and Saga did not know why, but she did not like it.

More important than that, Saga had discovered that this was not some fully-fledged master of magic, if she was a witch at all. This stranger looked to be about the same age as herself. She was more homely, with a round and soft body whereas Saga was narrow, boney, and rigid. It was yet another point of contention — this wolf of Donnelaith was beautiful, while Saga was merely average. She huffed softly and banished her many thoughts, focusing on the conversation as best she could.

What did she know of witches? Only what I have heard from Starbuck. She mentions that there are a number of such beings living within Donnelaith, and.. and she invited me to learn of them there. However, it had not been the northerner's intention to travel to their doorstep just yet; she was still wary of the concept, and even now felt the growing desire to separate herself from this specter of the forest. It would be rude to do so — so she remained.

I... also have dreams, but I do not know what they mean, Saga quietly revealed, although did not delve too deeply into the topic; she did not wish to be labeled a witch until she understood them, and so far she undecided on how she felt. Hastily, she adds, They are probably nothing at all — and thus she falls into an uneasy silence.