Blackfeather Woods and she came to Troy with a dowry; death

the forest was dying — relmyna found herself fading also. as the days in blackfeather set and rose again, she found herself on some colder mornings stiff, unable to move well until pain thawed from around her hips. the ignominy of growing old was worth the opportunity to lead, she supposed. 
already slight, flesh had wasted from her bones, and it was a thin spectre that wended through the woodland to answer wintersbane's call. he had been gone, and the undertone of his summons held something she would rather not know. but the listener went all the same, all the same, and saw first his proud, silver-ruffed form, and the more delicate form of her nightcub alongside him.
it was jarring to look upon astara and see with new eyes not a child, but a woman's budding form. young, yes, but it was not the youth of puphood that greeted her seafoam eyes. gaze lingered upon her daughter with a fond ache; she turned it then upon wintersbane, whom she approached with affection writ into the lines of her body, a welcoming curve to her torn lips.