Silvertip Mountain if you stand for nothing, what'll you fall for?

She then looked West, towards the plains and woods of the Great Bear Wilderness, and the range beyond. Rivers, like veins, cut through the expanse on their path to reuinte with the Sea. Akantha was not one for poetry and prose, but she felt as if Themiscrya was modeled from a similar system. She sent her children out; small, but violent storms, that ravaged the land but eventually drifted home again to be reborn. The Sea was a faint echo here but umistakable even among the wind and oppressive stone. Akantha held fast to the voice, knowing that, regardless of the distance between, She would never lead her astray. Not like the others.

Her nostrils flared and, with it, came a scent that sparked a sudden flash of recognition. The thorn witch turned until her memories solidified into something—someone. Whip, her mind gasped. There he stood, silent as the stones, alive and grown. A pang of regret scorched a tract across her heart, and she was nearly floored by the unexpected emotion. Indeed, she had rescued him; given him a home and a purpose. Whip, one of the few who had, somehow, won her over and never given her any reason to doubt his loyalties to her. 

Akantha steadied herself by planting her feet firmly into the stone and felt, suddenly, completely out of her depth. He was silent which, given their former relationship, was not abnormal. In this instance, however, it was unsettling. As her eyes flashed across his form to assess him her attention was briefly drawn to the bare, pink, marks on his pale legs. Akantha huffed, further disturbed, and lifted her hawkish gaze to his own. There were many things that demanded her voice, but she could not commit any of them to her tongue. The former Matriarch was no wordsmith and she felt as if explaining the events of the last few months was, ultimately, futile. 

So, instead, in a rare show of supplication, Akantha flipped her ears back and lowered her head to chuff softly at her once-Drudge.