The Heartwood [BOO] I know delusion when I see it in the mirror

It feels as if she has been asleep for too long. The kind of heady, weighted disorientation when you go down for a quick nap and find that when you wake, the clock tells you it has been eight hours or more.

She's  curled in a tight ball. The air is much colder than what Ibis expects as she unfurls, and when she reaches out with her forelegs for a back-arching stretch, her splayed toes drag through misted grass. With her eyes half-lidded, they close again and she draws in a long breath. It too is cold; refreshing, and tasting of—autumn?

As Ibis rises, she shakes some leaf-litter from her coat and observes the clustering gray of the clouds overhead, peeking through the canopy. Where is she? The Heartwood, yes, she knows this place. What was she doing here? As awareness and wakefulness creep through her Ibis ponders what adventure brought her this far, but she cannot be certain. She doesn't remember. In that absence there is softness, and she is unafraid of the blank space in her memory.

There is no hunger within her body, and she is well rested (if a bit disoriented). The overcast sky gave the impression that rain was on the way—although with the chill in the air, perhaps snow—and that would no doubt make the Heartwood look very pretty.

The woman follows a short trail from her sleeping place to a spacious section of the woods where the ground was lined with reds, golds, and the browns of leaves; there, she investigates the rich smell of the earth and with a darting look to her surroundings (as if someone might see her) Ibis lowered in to a play-bow of sorts, and with a frisk of her tail, made a mad leap in to the biggest pile.

Her laughter flowed, filling the Heartwood.