Broken Antler Fen Women like hunting witches, too

As Ibis slipped between the alder trees she thought she discerned a familiar scent, which prompted her to pause and then change direction; on auto-pilot for the most part, ignoring the numbing of her toes as she pressed on through the snow and the seeping wetness the fen afforded her nimble self. Not long after that she stopped again, sucking in a deep breath to try and steady her nerves, and looked up. Before her stood a willow tree. It was remarkable, really. The sight reminded her of home, of her mothers, and the happy, simple life that came before her maturation.

There was a rustle in the snow, and from behind one of the frosted alders came a silvered figure. Ibis was surprised to find someone so deep within the fen and thought to ask after her daughter — maybe this boy had seen her? But his big smile and cheerful affect made it difficult for her. Ibis did not want to ruin anyone's day with the terrible news of her loss. Having experienced so many losses, this one felt especially intimate.

Uh, um, hello. Said Ibis. She thought back to the assembly of bodies and tried to place this boy among them, but could not. At that time she had been distracted, more focused on Wraen and Maia and the planning stages of their claim. A weak smile appeared upon her face and vanished just as quickly. I am exploring a little. What are you up to? There were better questions to be asking; they burned in her throat, unspoken.