Lake Rodney I was dead when I woke up this morning

she finds nothing concrete, only a few pieces of some carrion she can not immediately identify, odd ends and bits washed up in the grass, laying there awkwardly as if they'd never really been meant to see the surface. it is intuition that tells her of the boy's presence, the sharp staccato beat down her spine that has her still, waiting, listening for footsteps. 

when she hears none, she turns, gaze finding the boy easily. "what are you doing here?" the question is softened by true curiosity; she'd never known Venamis to wander far from the wood.