Grouse Thicket A black fly in your chardonnay.

For @Wraen!

There was a river leading towards the sea, and she traced it back over the course of hours—maybe a full day, she couldn't keep track—until the scent of the ocean dwindled and faded, replaced by a strong sulfur-like sourness. It wasn't an improvement at all, especially to the siren. She missed the scent but, with the way the Mother had been reacting to her presence Minerva had trusted in her path. Mother Sea did not wish for her to be near, not right now, and so she would obey. However, the earth around her was just as unstable—and the growing unease within her heart helped very little.

The river twisted through a maze of green and before Minerva knew it, she was surrounded by trees. They weren't like the strange growths along the coast; these were splendid giants, old growth sequoias, clusters of elm trees riddled with moss, and soon she was overwhelmed by the sight—and scent—of pine. It was different from what she was used to, but she felt safe for the first time since her emergence from the sea.

On more than one occasion there was another smell, but the woman could not identify it. It reminded her of the bitter scent of the nesting rocks from Kea Island; a smattering of ridges and dangerously high stonework where sea birds often roosted. The rookery had been home to all sorts of avian creatures, but there was nothing similar to the topography of this forest. Intrigued, Minerva began to investigate the thicket—and was surprised to find feathers netted among the pine needles beneath her paws. The thought that a forest could be home to terrestrial birds was so strange to her, but her belly rumbled as she stalked along.

Soon she was invested in the hunt, disorienting as it was for her.