Greatwater Lake someone’s taking over

*cackles in qiao*

spring was the death of winter: qiao looked forward for the season's turn.

a figment of something -- perhaps unease -- stole across phox's features. or, perhaps the hemet imagined it.

qiao. she smiled a smile with no warmth. a simple name she had selected herself so many seasons ago. it had served her well. now that the snow has relented, i must continue my path. you may always call for me, particularly as you find the good days lean and the hard days long. death is not to be feared, stranger. she may not know phox's name, but she knew his end in the way healers and pragmatists of the world did.

it is a final kindness. farewell, stranger.

with that the hemet ducked under the screen of snowfall and stiffly walked off into the blowing winds.