The Heartwood faster than a hairpin trigger

after she worked through it. hydra had been clear; save for the fact that she'd offered no instruction on how to do that at all. there was only her anger, and hate, and self-depreciation, and beneath it all a vast stretch of apathy. and so she clutched onto her hate like shattered glass in a fist, for fear off falling into all that nothingness. 

she slips through the wood, the charred remains of the once-forest almost entirely covered by snow. more falls steadily from above, and at some point in time, darkness has settled thickly on them on. she ought to get back, sleep; but she can only see her face in the ice. her mother's face. it is enough to make sleep impossible.

@Valour!