Haunted Wood digging out stumps of old resentments that refuse to rot on their own (mtr.)

It was true, she was not a seer, not like the pair which read the signs now. And she was not old enough to have lived and learned the history and tradition as Odessa had, who knew, who knew all too well this was not a sign to take in lightly. The old crone had perhaps raised the youth of Kingslend into their yearling state where they took to their own care, but from there she could only hope that they would continue the way of Deorwine, that they would practice their teachings.

 It had been evident, to everyone, that Celnes had lost faith in the Deorwine's way of life, abandoning it and abandoning their God. She had made that clear in their first meeting. Odessa, as mentioned, had little choice on the manner where to go. These wolves, whether she disliked some, whether she didnt share the same ways with some, or no longer could look at them the same, were family and Odessa, at her age, had no where else to go even if she did not agree with Celnes rule. 
 
This, here, was a showing of her mistakes. They knew it, Celnes hid it, Calhoun spoke it. Catching her breath (after she nearly hacked up a lung here), she watches and listens quietly, her bright yellow eyes narrowed on the servant at her side.