Phantom Hollow Der Winter wird auf den Wangen,

@Awenfen

ever onward; her gate has slowed to a stilted walk and yet she can not stop. the woods has grown quiet here, pale and reverent. the world holds its breath here, or, does she? she must not stop, for the wraith will soon arrive. her destination does not matter. 

crimson, bright against dark feathers; no, fur. not bright, but turned darker around the edges, resigning itself now to being outside her veins. has she not been here before? shadows stretch, set within them are eyes of crimson slashed with ice. the shadow rights herself, straightening, standing. a moment, and then she is in motion again.