Deepwood Weald I don't want to know who we are without each other

Themis was torn this day.

Her children grew like weeds, but she waffled on what to do with them. Train them rigorously? Let them grow and be children? Some mix of the two?

Themis had never had a chance to simply be a child. And maybe the Weald would provide what the Shadewood could not. She hoped, at least, raising one of her paws to rub at the place where her head throbbed. A stress induced migraine had been plaguing her for days, but she pushed away the nagging pain to greet the alchemist with a tired smile.

Thank you, Ouraniós. I haven’t been able to get out much, but I hope I will soon. Her paws itched to travel again, but she knew it would be within the Deepwood that she wandered.

Again, she puffed a short sigh. Then, she plastered on a bland smile to try and distract from the stress.

My friend, what do you wish to do with your time? Are there any skills you wish to pursue?