Jade Fern Grove bonji

Druid waited to die. Yet weeks passed and neither infection nor madness took her. Instead, she healed. It was a slow process—made even slower by the lack of proper nutrition—but ever the survivalist, she somehow prevailed.

Now she walked west out of the woods, scrawny and weak but not even limping. She’d stumbled across a carcass yesterday and felt energized from the meal. Her bright eyes flicked to the distant arches, her heart jumping into her throat.

Before she reunited with her family, Druid needed to make herself more presentable. She ambled a little south of the bypass, planning to bathe in the river before following it north through the western gateway. As she carefully scrubbed herself in the cold water, her gaze remained fixed on Rivenwood.

Her eyes only drifted downward to stare at the bite wound, now a pale pink scar. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t tingle. Surely it was nothing more than a bad memory. Druid had to believe the danger had passed.

She lifted her head again, lips pulling into a moue as she prepare call out to her sister and children—only to whip her head to the left at the sight of Heda frolicking with butterflies.