The Sentinels peer'd forth the golden window of the east,

She stepped through the trees with something akin to reverence, for even beneath the dusting of white were the great scars evident. Fire had burned here, long ago, and yet the forest had yet to begin its recovery. The distant cry of a gull was the only sound beside her own soft footfalls, made shallow and soft by her own narrow frame, which had only become narrower still in her long months alone, away from the shore. Her waist tucked in farther than it ever had, and her ribs rippled along her short-cropped pelt. Hunger had become a close companion, and rarely did she pay heed to its burn, nor had she anything to douse it. 

She had found the coast, though were along it she was she did not know. Her gaze fluttered closed a moment, and for a moment she allowed the tiredness to surge over her. She had grown so very tired, and while the sea had sparked some long-buried flame, the scraps she found did little to appease the companion that had suddenly become far too demanding. 

Folding in on herself, she woman paused a moment, leaning heavily against the base of a scorched tree, already fading from life, yet seeming a little stronger than it's neighbor. Again did her lids fall closed, and her breath was labored as she sought to supply enough of the ocean-touched air to her wildly beating heart.