Blackwater Islands the destroyer of nations

Thistle looked out at the depths eyes on the darkness beneath the waves and she nodded her head. A bit like your fur. A mix of different colors. I like to believe there'd be color there. And the sea. Well there are many mysteries there, perhaps.

She said no more. Her thought not complete, because she wasn't even sure what she had been trying to say. She sighed and lowered her head . 

The worst part of dying at my age. Is losing the memories that used to drive you and unable to form coherent thought.

She felt fine spilling her truths to a wolf, she would never see again. Her death was close now, she could feel it. But she couldn't ever explain how she knew it. It was just one of those innate things.