Moonspear the light, the fight, the quiet.

she was born there, the woman claimed, and named a place that sounded almost familiar. one of her father's stories, perhaps—she notes with a chill of fear, suddenly, that it's growing harder to remember the exact sound of his voice, the shade of his eyes. 

in an attempt to circumvent the sharp and sudden dread, she asks, "what was it like, living there?" her question is answered with a shake of her muzzle. "I met a woman, during the quakes—she said it was dangerous." she offers as an explanation. she'd never really thought about it again; any potential wanderlust that might once have bloomed in her is stomped dead.