Golden Glade all that he invested in goes straight to hell

The wildfire Blackthorn skulked from between the sugar maples.  The rain had been relentless and the Plateau did little to offer respite from the downpour.  She was something like her namesake; she did not care to get wet unless she felt like swimming, and the rain did little to boost her already somber mood.

Towhee's search party had left and Ceara was left more or less in solitude.  Everyone she talked to on a regular basis was gone except for Tuathal, and she'd rather he make himself useful than talk to him about her fee fees.  

She sighed and reclined onto her haunches, the sweet scent of the maple distracting her from the petrichor.  She took a quick look over her shoulder to make sure nobody was watching, and then she drew her tongue over the sap.

It was delicious.  After sparing an anxious, embarrassed look around, she continued to treat herself to dessert, featuring sugar maple sap.