Sleepy Fox Hollow winter ghost

Ginsberg knew what it meant to be alone. At least, she knew then what it meant. She had traveled for quite some time on her own four limbs, far away from the dark stretch of inky rock that had been her birthplace and her home for the first stint of her life. She had wandered in search of all things that she did not have answers too and she had found that answers weren't often found when one was actively seeking them. So, the wandering soul in her was able to thrive in her newly discovered vagabond lifestyle, and she had adopted many characteristics of her late father that she had never known. She had acted as a mercenary of sorts for those who needed her along the way, never staying too long.

The lengthy strides that she took to overcome the land had carried her through snug trees and thick brush. Ginsberg seemed to move through it like a ghost. Just as the wind shifted and carried the scent of a stranger toward her, the hairs along her neck and back began to rise. The inky quills danced there like some jagged soldiers off to war. When the sea foam of her gaze nestled on a bloody maw and an unfamiliar shape, Gin halted. Her crown was lifted upward to regard the stranger with a blank expression.