Ravensblood Forest No more alone or myself could I be

There was a deep, visceral sense of satisfaction that hummed through Lotte’s bloodstream at the woman’s gesture of respect — she had forgotten that she was Banríon within Teaghlaigh’s borders — and she canted her broad muzzle in turn. “Welcome to Teaghlaigh, Lia Raurc,” the silver-tongued bard intoned warmly, her coal-colored tail waving genially. “Do you have any experience with trees?” It was an odd question to ask, but Lotte’s black-masked visage was completely serious. The smile that caught at her lips was friendly without being humorous or sardonic, but just to clarify that she was indeed asking for a reason, “I was born in the northern tundra — there are no trees that can survive those conditions — and I think I may have broken one of Arturo’s sequoias by trying to dig a den beneath its roots. When I started, it was winter and the earth held strong, but now everything is mud and slush.”

Chuckling warmly, she confessed, “I tried to knock it down the rest of the way — it growled at me and shook above me, and I thought it would crush me — but I could not do it alone. Maybe it would be better to reinforce it, but I do not know enough about trees to know whether it would put down new roots, or whether the thaw will continue to weaken the ground beneath it.”