Ravensblood Forest sea legs

Thistle had been out of the inner most sanctum of the bay more and more as time progressed. She was far too restless to stay, she often found herself near the forest all over again. Ravens blood was a bitter sweet place to her. It was where she had first met Crete, where she had let Ragnar have her, where she had conceived her children, and where she had become a Viking. It made her sad now to look at it, but also happy and it was a confusing mix of feelings for the femme.

Thistle walked among the boughs happily breathing in the moist air that only leaves, and plants and moist dirt could give off. There was bark on the trees. She smelled different wolves coming and going, but still no one had settled here and she briefly wondered at it. Perhaps it was just a way station for the few. She continued on, oblivious to the fact that another wolf was nearby. Not realizing that there were a number of wolves nearby, so lost in her own thoughts as it were.

She briefly wished she would have brought her son with her, granted she wasn’t even supposed to leave the pack lands. But as of late they were suffocating her, so much expected of her, so much for her to give, and she got barely anything back. For once she just wanted…she just wanted her own solitude however brief it could be.