Emberwood Keeping time by a pendulum as the fabric starts to fray

Their conversation through the wood was a dance to a quiet melody. With Reverie taking charge and Abel following the rhythm. Though whatever response he had lacked what little energy he had mustured in his time being with everyone, with her. The burn in his voice and sunken eyes was the product of sleepless days and now restless nights.

It was cruely fitting to come across the grave: a cherry to top the willow wolves's shared desolation.

I'm sorry to hear, Abel's voice trailed into a somber murmer. A few beats of silence passed before he spoke up.

Who was she? Perhaps it was insencitive to ask, yet he continued almost mindlessly. What was she like?