Kildeer Rest i. "render these mutterings of an unspoken heart"

hunting thread #1, AW :) rolled 7 = no success hunting, attempts fishing

Refugee. Vagabond. Outcast. 

All brands of the same shame, synonyms for the same name. 

Corpse. 

Did it apply?

Perhaps. She did not feel quite alive as her misguided journeys led her to foreign lands - an alien place carpeted in green so lush it stung the eyes, speculated over by sentinels of wood and stone that loomed like the Giants of lore. 

Her paws had once been scraped, cracked and raw as they ran with putrid punishment - a testament to the spirits' wrath. Had they not proclaimed her the source of the clan's grief, the harbringer of loss? 

Elve swallowed against a knot of simmering loss that lodged suddenly in her throat, a white-hot brand of pain that burned into her heart. She forced her thoughts from the tragedy that sent her fleeing into strange realms, lest she drive herself mad with thoughts of the girl. 

As the fleshy pinkpads of her feet had calloused with weary wanderings so too did the agony threatening to render her assunder abate. For the first time, the cursed woman took survey of her surroundings - drifting to a halt as she reached a small copse of trees. 

The land, though unfamiliar, was lush with opportunity, ripe with the promise of a fresh meal. The elf had nibbled sparingly at the Pathfinders' herbs to quiet the rumblings of her irate stomach but even they could not keep hunger entirely at bay. 

With an anxious cast of her ocean eyes over slender shoulders, the Medicine Woman reluctantly took hold of the caribou hide draped over her shoulders. It held all of her wordly possessions - concealed in one lumpy moss-wrapped bundle hidden in the folds of the reindeer wrap.

It was with some fear that she parted ways with the fur for the supplies were key to her survival in the wilderness and the fae knew better than to believe herself truly alone. It was likely an unseen pair of eyes watched her even now, that another rogue or two lingered in the unclaimed territory. 

The sami tucked the wrap against the roots of the trees, leaving the emcumbering bulk behind as she slipped into the forest. Scent trails assailed her from every direction - those of animals wholly unknown. The healer could only begin to guess at the animal families such odors belonged to. 

Despite her best efforts, the prey of the land eluded the foreign woman - the scents tapered off suddenly or became confused with another trail, the spoor was lost to some natural cause. 

With a slight shake of her buttermilk crown, borne of frustration, Elve turned south; it was in this direction that she had heard the bubbling of a shallow stream. 

Following the trickle of liquid and the crisp scent of freshwater, the elf smiled unabashedly to herself as the creek came into sight. 

Elve slipped into the slightly murky, green-tinted waters, ignoring the chill that electrified her bones. The water wrapped soothingly around her limbs, a comforting embrace not unlike a mother's that was wholly familiar to the sami. 

Cerulean optics danced over the lap of the water, the pagan urging the spirit of the Caribou to aid her in the hunt as she watched intently for the silver flash of fishscale.