Ravensblood Forest french exit

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some part of her yearns for the sea. her reacquaintance with it seemed so cursory, and yet after finding again the borders of Ravensblood she loathes to leave them. and so she remains firmly within their depth, finding comfort in her herb cache (long ago forsaken and yet now rediscovered) and the gentle rushing she can hear at night - she imagines it the lashing of the waves upon the shore, and yet knows it to be little more than the brook that snakes through the wood, growing fat with winter's thaw.

thelxiope finds warmth in the dark surface of an exposed boulder, barely large enough to curl her frame upon. muzzle is raised, turned towards the sea, and a low hum of content rumbles in her chest.

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