Broken Antler Fen keepkey

she fled brecheliant for the arms of the ghosts she did know. she had seen them buried. she had wept beside their graves.
the fen was silent. a cold autumn rain soaked her hackles as she searched not for cover;
you're slipping.
but for figures. forms.
ibis. wraen. "are you here?" the raven called out suddenly, abruptly, voice cutting with hope and horror through the quiet petrichored air.
go home. you're dreaming. you're sick.