Blackfeather Woods I am tired, I am weary

she'd slipped away for a short time, intent on a day trip to the wood visible from the edges of the mesa. virtute had been distant, anyways. the descent took the spindly-limbed girl much of the morning, and when finally she slipped into the forest's edge, the sun hung heavy directly overhead. still, beneath the canopy, the air was cool and still, the scent of damp and earth prevalent. 

silently, the girl wandered. this place was in stark contrast to the mesa, even more so than the haunted wood. in the canopy, the whispered sound of crow's wings accompanied her journey. something moves, parallel to her path; it is with an unblinking gaze that she stares after the sound, tail held stiff and utterly motionless.