Neverwinter Forest my aunt used to live in Paris

She coveted the safety she felt in this forest, secure, knowing what vigour Mal protected his homeland with. Her entire journey out and back had forced her mind to overdrive; Ceilidh had been on high alert, even when she'd slept, even more after the landslide had forced her away from the shelter of the mountains, to travel through and bed down in naked and exposed lands. She found safety in the shadows of the trees, as they swayed in the cool autumn air. The past week had been all but surreal. Being back in Neverwinter almost felt like coming in touch with reality again.

Her hackles bristled when a silver shadow peeled through the trees before her, his face a face she failed to recognize, though she pinned him as one of the new scents that filled the forest alongside Mal's. Ceilidh pulled her ears forward, and watched him through eyes as cautious as his own.

"No," she admitted to his question. Her ears flinched back, "Probably not." Mal would have told her about any newcomer he'd brought into their fold, if she had been around when they'd joined. He had told her nothing about this one. She felt, again, the weight of how long she'd been gone, but reminded herself that she could not have prevented that. "I'm with Mal," and though the answer seemed obvious, she asked for safe keeping, "Are you, too? With Neverwinter?"