Blackfeather Woods Must Be The Season Of The Witch

All Welcome!

 

The Seer had traveled far, that much was apparent.
Lands she crossed were not lands she recognized like the lands of her birth - covered in snow and ice, sky-kissing peaks and stone...
They came into the Wilds as unassuming as any witch would - ghost-like, silent. Unwilling to wreak hell as many others may. 

The vanta-blacks and deep shadows of her furs gave her an eldritch look, almost. As eldritch as any realistic, mortal body could possibly be, that is.

The Seer eventually stopped at the tree-line of a deep, dark wood.
She looked into the trees to see crows, ravens...

A slow, spiderly-fluid glance downward to the roots and slowly dying underbrush...
Some evidence of buried bones, others assumedly covered in earth, likely never to be found.
The Seer would fluidly, calmly, cross into the Woods. 

And yet despite the lack of the presence of other wolves, she did not feel alone. 
No, magick reigned here - She felt that in her heart of hearts.
This place most definitely was sacred, at least once before...

And in her mind's image, it would be sacred again.

Perhaps a coven could be risen here, she mused...
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps...

The Seer would wander the Blackfeather Woods in slow thought, meandering more or less, taking everything in, especially the Tree, unbeknownst to her filled with toxic spores -  Where she began to see spirits, ghosts that she deemed to be inhabitants of the Wood.. perhaps even remnants of what used to be, though she knew not the greatness or the details or anything at all, about those who had once reigned here.

As The Seer continued to explore, she felt a possessiveness beginning to twist and curl and spark in her breast...

Mine.