Phantom Hollow As fresh as a daisy,

Nowhere felt safe.

Not to Reverie, not anymore — but she trusted Hunst's instinct. When they'd traveled as a group it had been her who signaled the end of each day's journey, her who chose their camps and roused each companion with the sun. But in the absence of others to organize, Reverie had turned distracted; occupied with her grief, with her endless planning, perhaps a bit too reliant now on Hunst.

But he made it so easy. Reverie nodded once and began to unpack her things, still lost in her thoughts. She wrapped her fox pelt, a threadbare cloak by now, around her shoulders and thought of Crowfeather. She hoped that he was well, wherever he was.

A surge of loneliness sent her prancing to Hunst's side. Reverie dropped to her belly beside him, stretching almost playfully as she turned on her side to face him. What are you thinking about when you look so serious? She wondered aloud, eyes brighter than they'd been.