Barrow Fields i left my flaming sword beside your bed

she could sense the war within the stranger in the tension between their words and movements.  they announce, without prompting, that they don't intend on staying long.  it does not matter to me.  she paused, squinting against a flash of pain that bloomed behind her forehead.

we are traveling now, she informed, with some time left before we reach where we are going.  part of this filled her with dread, for she was weary of travel.  but she was grateful to have stumbled upon this pack as it was forming.  her own had been so established it would have been impossible to become anything other than she was. 

she did not want to think about what she was, so she didn't. 

what brings you here?