Deepwood Weald ambrosial grace

no worries my friend ❤

He speaks first, greeting her through the lingering shade the forest offers, the weight of shadow as heavy on her as Phocion's disappearance. Surely it must be writ over her face: my love is lost, my body abandoned, even in peace and calm I am lost. If it is he gives no indication of recognizing it and she is grateful, slipping into a mask of self-assuredness, the reckless casuality that led her first to Wardruna and then to Bearclaw. 

"Hello," she returns, her voice even, "what brings you here?" (As if she wasn't the one who stumbled upon him, as if she's not the one looking for an out.)