Herbalists' Cache oh, devastate me, let me be broken with you

@Awol, @Pygmalion :3 (other members of UG are welcome as well!)

 

The stone was nothing exceptional. 

At first glance, one would think it to be like any other chunk of rock lying aside the stream, which filled the air with the twinkling music of burbling water - cold and tinny with the northern wind brushing her face playfully, as if enticing her to dance to the music of her simple albeit fantastical world. 

The Ovate could not have said what prompted her to reach forward, a ghastly paw of moonlit snow extending as if by its own design to overturn the rock as gently as she might have rolled over a bairn. If prompted, she'd have ventured a guess that it was the spirits of the forest. 

All concern for the unseen force motivating her fled upon seeing the stone's true nature, however; an almost inaudible gasp bursting from her lips. 

The stone was anything but ordinary. 

On one side, nothing more than creekbed gravel and on the other, smooth glass streaked by fiery reds and icy blues - not unlike the swirling hues of her own warring gaze. 

Dwyn allowed her paw to rest over it, covering it as her abstract gaze wandered sightlessly, recalling her mother's teachings of the spirits and their offerings. 

Is it a sign? Am I meant to stay here, make this place my home? 

Despite Emira's pleas, the wolfdog could not find it within her to seek her own kind actively. For starters, she knew very little of the land and its inhabitants - she had not even the slightest clue where to begin. And suppose the Clans of these lands were at all similar to the Vaskra? 

A shudder rippled over her flesh spasmodically as the cur swallowed thickly, whetting her lips anxiously as the slashed skin of her throat tugged in protest. 

Never again.

She could not take the risk; the Dragon would slit open her own skin before she let another hold her in such a manner. 

It would be best if she were to find a corner of this vast wilderness to make her own, take up an existence as cutwife for its people - as Emira had. Perhaps that was truly the only existence a creature like she could find peace within, a hermit's life on the very edges of civilized society. 

It would not be so bad, truly. She cast her gaze about the small forest, imaging it would be well provisioned in the warmer months. The scents here were strong, a confusing myriad of fresh and stale, old and young, male and female. Yet, they tended towards stale - this glen was less frequented in the dark half of the year. It would be a suitable place to winter, something she would need soon as the season progressed. 

Emira, I know you wanted me to find my people, my tribe, but winter is coming to this land. I know not how long I may have yet to seek before I must postpone my journey until spring.