Deepwood Weald ᵇʷᵖ ilyë mahalmar ëa?

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Cassandra—
prophetess, yes. Seeking, too, a way through this Weald;
and were the stricken indeed made blind with heavensfever, as her desecrator had been, she might have wisped:
Are we not all stumbling to sight our path?
But, no: she was no fanatic, and so such did not fall from torn lips. She had not surrendered the remenants of what sanity could not be struck from her; and neither did she portend such a damning day to a deity and more.

No, her atonement was as godless as this encounter was fateless— 

"There is nothing to forgive,"  graced she, a phantasm of a smile.  "Mine and myself seek to claim these hinters, yes; it is a bit of a labyrinth, I will admit. Though,"  and at this lull she turned, sidelong, inviting the wanderer with a considering tilt of her rubied crown,  "I would be gladdened to help you upon your passage. And, ah, ze place you speak of — I believe it is called Moonsong."