Blackwater Islands Staring at the waves, but you don't wanna drown

anger became confusion; the gilded wolf resisted in her own feeble manner, and reached for something mortal. something tangible. a name, perhaps.

i am the listener, the prophet whispered, obliging the sickly woman. you rest among the druids. you are ill, but the speaker has tended your wounds.

perhaps this information would soothe her delirious ire. or perhaps she was too far gone, one paw planted firmly in the otherworld as her body fought for survival.