Hushed Willows like one of those old greek tragedies

forward dated to sometime mid-next week, i guess. what are timelines? edited to reflect a personal request that i will make a read-only tomorrow.

andraste had died in his arms.

painful though it is, he knows he must brave face. must keep on going. he faces wolves beneath his rule, his care. he must make a decision. a heavy one.

he has planted his roots. they are as solid as a thousand year old tree's; imbedded deep and nurtured by responsibility. the womb of the sunspire reminds him too much of her; worsening the ache. he cannot stay there. courtfall, without her, is not courtfall. new life. new territory where she does not linger; haunting him.

he informs his wolves after her burial and sets out presumably with them in tow, finding the hushed willows upon chance. it seems a good place as any to rest and as he explores: large paws seeking loamy and fertile soil, snow banked as the rest of the wilds with whispering willows whose barren boughs swaying, bogged by layering snow. the scent of herds is strong and he thinks that this might be the place they will settle.