Barrow Fields Let's go back, back to the beginning

She arrived in the midst of a storm. Rain pelted like waves, soaking her grey coat. 
She blinked, raised her muzzle, a silent observer of the combination of blessings and destructive power pouring from the sky. 
it was a blessing, she was certain, from a god she no longer remembered the name of, no longer was certain she believed in. 
Macaria slipped through the knolls, Hairs standing on end. This was a sacred place. She could feel it in her bones, feel the electricity crawl across her shoulders. Hear the whispers of spirits in her mind. 
She moved like a wraith, dark eyes forward, unsure of where the spirits were going to lead her. 
For now, the witch would revel in this sacred space.