Felltree Marsh I'm left looking at the glowing ends

Someone was approaching.  Rosalyn froze, and despite the low odds, her expectations lifted.  The small hope that burgeoned in her chest extinguished as though doused in a wave when she saw it was a stranger, not one of her own.  It was no fault of his own, but her gaze was stony, and there was no amicable nature to her own meeting.

But he was the first life she'd seen in days, and the first chance at information too.  Seeking by herself was getting her nowhere so far.  I'm looking for the wolves of Rusalka, she replied, without introduction or formality.  Her eyes searched him for any trace of recognition, but this time, she was prepared to be disappointed.  He looked young and lost; she had no desire to play guardian a second time.