Sequoia Coast sea billows roll

He's just a kid; they all are, they're all just kids; a young mother with children not yet at the halfway mark of one year. Dinah, immature, naïve, vulnerable, fresh-faced;
And yet here she was.
Mama stays silent, withered. Daddy is in the ground. And now the choice, ultimately, had been left to her. Sim, her voice is weak, fragile, and her eyes round at the edges just enough to convey the love that still prevailed. I'm not going back there.
He was right, in some way, and she knew this. But the thought of the now-barren lavender fields, the soft song of crashing waves, the mound of silt where her father now lays and the — the blackened paw that had belonged to Judah.
She could not, would not; empty, empty home, save for the incessant disgust to be found in the eyes of her preacherman brother who she no longer thought to consider her own. She did not want to see him; did not want anything to do with him. Did not want to go to a home that had scattered in the wind, a home no longer there.
Her gaze falls upon mama. Her heart aches. Moonspear, Rivenwood, somewhere else wholly — they would do it together, build a new home together, just the five of them, because everyone else had turned cheek upon them.
And decidedly, if that too was torn to shreds, she would go alone if she must.