Herbalists' Cache black seas of infinity

Somehow the girl of the sea had veered northward and now, having woken up cold, alone, and littered with pine needles throughout her fur, she knew she had to keep moving. The cold was one thing but to feel so thoroughly rejected by the world around her was another; to top it all off Rheia had not eaten in many days. She pined — no pun intended — for her sister Sif or for the simpler days of the catacombs. It took some time for Rheia to muster the energy for standing but once she did, she was moving about and warming herself up as best she could. She was not suited for this northerly place and all of its snow — but she was here, and she would not let herself succumb.

Rheia was initially quite lucky. Her bed had been made beneath a weathered corsican pine that was so broad, so grand, so ancient, she did not have even a dusting of snow across her body. The soil around the tree's base where she had slept must have been worn away by rainfall in the past, for it made a suitable abutment and in a way, she was reminded of Refurhol in a vague sense. A hearty wind could easily disturb the heavy branches and send their collected snow down across her — she could have been buried alive in all of it. As she slunk from the safety of this pseudo-hollow she took note of the bowing of the branches and the density of the snow which had collected overnight.

Then, she moved on. The cold was too great for her to linger in one place and as much as Rheia wished for things to be different, she knew she would have to eat something before the day was out if she were to survive. For now survival came first — but as soon as she was stronger she would return to find her sister.