The Heartwood so she walked away, devastation in her world

@Hieronymous :)

A wasteland it was, or had once been, devoid of life, as still and silent as the Ovate who infringed upon its borders. 

There was nothing for her here; beneath a carpet of fallen leaves and a layer of crackling hoarfrost lay only the barren fields of a razed forest. Even so, Dwyn prodded at clumps of ice, pawed damp leaves aside to investigate the land of death lying just beneath in the hopes of discovering a juicy salamander or toad hibernating within the chilled muck. 

Alas, no such luck; with a soft snort that plumed the air with pale vapor, the Dragonborn ambled on - turning resolutely north. 

There was no destination in mind, no end goal to strive towards. She was but a vagabond, drifting in a foreign sea towards whatever fate the stars had aligned for her. Again, as if on cue, Emira's last words echoed within her auds. 

"Find your own kind. Find your tribe." 

A grimace tugged at the corners of her rosy lips. This dispersal life left something to be desired, certainly, but Clan life? The former slave could scarcely imagine actively seeking out 'her kind'. 

Wolves were not fond of canines or halfbreeds, at least in her experience. And if she were to be basing such a decision off her past experiences, the girl would never again join any sort of coalition - not if that was what awaited her. 

"Alone, better," she whispered in the tongue of Druids, flinching as the scrape of her vocals startled her. 

Snapping her jaws shut with an audible click, cornflower and cotton candy flicked to and fro fearfully - as if expecting the wispy words to have brought down an assailant. 

Gooseflesh erupted across her skin as she picked up her pace, imagining vile monsters, vile men, lurking amongst the trees.