The Heartwood Why does thou sit upon my grave

@Alduin — A bit short, but I think it contains all the necessary details ^^

The winds of change never do cease, for the world will never remain the same. The grave is not unquiet, but it does not speak. There are few words to hear, and yet, there is so much left to understand, to learn, to know. We are all one, but our spirits separate us, pushing us further and further from one another. When we speak truth, lies are what we hear. And when we tell lies, we hear only truth. What is life, but a reality none of us can truly comprehend? Well ... not all of us.

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To her, in the depths of the heartwood, the wolf-dog would come to her. In the stead of her presence, she had left behind a set of clues. some, if not all were obvious. But as to whether or not he would know where the led, would be entirely up to him.

The clues left are as follows:

A single, smoldered branch, half ash and half buried in a cloak of dried moss.
Tattered and broken, the skeletal antler of an elder elk. A stench consumes it, rotting and fresh of its corpse. Even the weakest of noses could follow its malodor. 
And finally... the smallest, tainted reek of her urine, lining itself along the outer veil of topiary. It is there that the heartwood begins, but further within does she wait.

Incessantly, she waits. Even the tiniest scuffle beckons her attention, skull jerking and ears swiveling. There may be a timely delay, but he will come. What doubt could there be? There is none, the seer believes. If there were, the elder spirits would have told ill ridden lies- ... and they never lie.