Deepwood Weald in my world,

ah.

guilt stirred within her.
it mixed with joy, with bashfulness. she was a stranger to praise. a smile curled her lips and warmth brushed her cheek, the man a guide through the fog. into this forneskja of his.
thank you. thank you, thank you so much. she could weep, but instead the russet badger followed closely in his footsteps.

your seiðkona.. who is she? this is a chance to learn again; to learn more.
she couldn't afford to repeat the same mistake again.
eyes still bore into her back.