Witch's Marsh Story carries on

For the first time since her arrival to her father's bypass, Ciri felt strong enough to roam. She ventured quietly from the woodland where she'd made her resting place before dawn broke, and turned attention toward the wetlands beyond their Western borders.

Mahler had made her comfortable not only with potions, but with his words. Ciri was yet to cross paths with any of his wolves, with anyone who might remain from her past, so that tremor of anxiety lingered. She was not afraid, however; the swallow was grown now. Without the guidance of her family fir so long, she'd been made new.

The rising sun bathed the valley in warm shades, highlighting clouds in pastel pinks and soft oranges. She took a moment to appreciate the calmness of it, the stillness of the air around her, and as she shifted to proceed across the damp earth her yellow gaze found the sodden form of an unknown she-wolf. Ciri chuffed softly to announce her presence, and should the raveness look her way she would be greeted with a friendly beat of her dark tail.