Deepwood Weald Black-eyed Susan

The forest was rather like a dream she'd once had, though Reverie could hardly recall the details. Something about the ghostly cast of the light, she thought, winding idly between the thin trees. She'd departed the Bay not so long ago, certain that Lestan would assume she had gone for a hunt — and she likely would hunt before her return, if only to have something to show for the trip.
Right now, she only wanted to breathe; the air of their den was suffocatingly heavy with grief of late. Reverie did not hold it against Lestan. She remembered well what it had been like for her, after the fire, and quietly admired his strength for not falling quite as far as she had. It would pass in time, she hoped. Even if it did not, she would be at his side through it all.
But she felt very alone, and she didn't know how to cope with that feeling. Even admitting it to herself was painful, but it was a desire for real companionship that brought her out of the Bay this time. Any sort of companionship, really. Reverie didn't think she would find it in this eerie forest, but that wouldn't stop her from searching.