Deepwood Weald [m] bodies

Do not. Marina froze, one paw lifting from the frosted earth in anticipation of flight. But something held her there, some combination of pity and shame; it would be unkind to assume the worst, callous to abandon a suffering man to his fate for the nagging gut feeling that something was not right.

A year ago, the survivor she had been would already have disappeared among the trees.

But the instincts that kept her safe then had no place in her life now, and something in her had turned willfully blind. A necessary thing, a good thing so long as she existed in the peace and love and safety which Moontide had surrounded her with. What Marina didn't understand was that there was none of that here. She thought herself jaded. Paranoid. The world had become a kinder place. Surely.

Marina took a step closer and lowered herself to a sit, ignoring the sick twisting feeling in her stomach as the word daughter passed his lips. I've been there, She sympathized, reaching for the pity she still felt. Want to talk about it?