Deepwood Weald in my world,

a faery led only by instinct, what little she had of them anyways.
norns have yet to answer her prayers asking where she had been led, so for now she is led only by faith. and knowing, for sure, there is no home to return to.

mist engulfs her, surrounds her and — if her ears didnt fail her — whispers to her. "turn back", it giggles. it carressed her with the tenderness she imagined her mother would've. perhaps the spirits found amusement in a girl stupid enough to travel alone, abandoned by the norns and thus her people.

the mellowed priestess was unaware, though, that she was not alone. not until the stench of man festered in her nose that it became impossible for her to ignore.

hello? she searched through whisps of the mist, batting them aside in hopes of uncovering whoever it was that she shared this space with.