Hushed Willows [m]the cleverest of hares, the wiliest of foxes

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As it did every year, her cycle returned. 

Burning into her veins like a thousand needles, pressing against her sides, her womb, everything. She woke that first morning to blood matting against the inside of her thighs and she sighed out a long breath. Lusine was not a good mother.

It didn’t take long of looking at her children to know that. 

No redemption needed. She got up from her place beneath the willow she slept under the past several nights, and set to work on distraction. Clawing the dirt, digging scattered holes and covering them up again, dragging branches to and fro. Anything to keep her mind and body busy.

As it was, she would be digging into the dirt beside where the willows met the mountains when she heard something coming close. She didn’t look up, just scraping idly at the dirt.