Qeya River it's a narrow neck of land

"Was it?" Emaleth breathed, her heart thunderous in her chest. It had been freak chance, or perhaps the power in her hind legs, that had caused the ice to break just as she left it. She shuddered as she lifted herself to her feet to stand on the safety of land-locked snow, imagining what could have occurred. A cold dip in the river and stuck beneath inches of ice— drowning there like Ophelia, or perhaps not quite so peaceful. She swallowed, willing the adrenaline rush to pass, and allowed herself to look the other over.

The gray youth was perhaps half her own age, which explained her obliviousness to the danger of the situation— a danger that Emaleth was barely aware of, herself. Her form bore the athleticism of the very young, though the dark witch predicted it would become more defined, more feminine as the child aged.

"I'm Emaleth Claudette Mayfair," she told the other, perhaps a bit airily. Her full heritage was likely unnecessary, but the yearling enjoyed the formality of it— she was experimenting with a self-importance that simply had not existed within Donnelaith. "Daughter of Taltos, First Druid of the Sentinels." Her father's title, too, made her feel like she was on some grand adventure that was all her own.