Bearclaw Valley ce tissage d'événements

Daybreak came, though the valley sheltered them from the dawning light at its lowest point. The sky bled with color, the minutes ticking by only giving rise to the subtle change and offering her more reason to stir. She hadn't slept that well, giving in to the constant toss and turn and half-wake stirring that often consumed her. The first few nights had gone by easily enough and the disruption came as a surprise.

But the weariness was not to last once she was up and moving, the rest fitful enough to afford her enough motivation at least to venture. She headed towards the stream, one of several, and sought to slake a thirst that had rose up to overcome her. A low fog twined through the timber; she took note of the birds that had begun to sing, and further noted that there was a silence here.

She didn't particularly care for the quiet, found it all too easy to slip into thoughts she had best leave alone for another time, preferably never to be teased out. Ursus itself would rise soon if it did not already, if it ever slept, and she would find something to do when the light deigned it time to spill in over the rocky slopes.

The water of the stream was crisp and cool even as the temperatures rose. Spring was finally grabbing hold of them, leaves unfurling at the end of branches and flowers opening. There was her task—to catalogue them mentally, perhaps to gather and store. To call back on the trade her mother had been wise to teach her at an early age. Better to have them on hand now with their motley crew, she thought, thinking then of the slate fellow she had met who had watched the pig, and then of the tale woven deep in the scarred flesh of Merrick.

She didn't question why the inclination was there, but she would follow it.

Something willed it, whether it was her heart or sheer instinct.

@Evien hi come play