Swiftcurrent Creek whats comes next,

Morwenna worked diligently, her focus narrowed to the salve she applied to his cut. Her paws were steady, though her chest rose and fell with quicker breaths. She shushed him sharply with a jerk of her muzzle when he tried to brush off the injury, unwilling to let his dismissive words deflect her. Once the salve was applied, she moved to the moss, picking it from the forest floor with careful deliberation.

Talk to me, he'd plead.

The words stilled her entirely. Her body froze, a deep inhale the only motion she allowed herself. Should she open up? What would she have done if she were still in Evenspire, surrounded by the marble halls and cold expectations of her past life? The answer was clear—she would have shut herself off, drawn a veil over her emotions, and become untouchable.

But she was not in Evenspire anymore. This was Swiftcurrent Creek, and it demanded something else of her. Something foreign, untouched.

Her breath trembled as she exhaled, and she dared to speak: I cannot bear the unknown, she confessed softly, her voice steady at first. If we can find anything out, any information, it is valuable.

She paused, her gaze dropping to the moss in her paw as if it held the strength she lacked. Mine own husband, she began, her voice cracking slightly, time ago... withheld everything from me. Ripped me from my own throne, slaughtered our children.

Her breath hitched, and she shook her head lightly, as if trying to shake away the memory. Burnt them on a stake— Her words faltered before resuming, softer, more broken. That is why I am pushing. If I had known—if I had paid attention, maybe they'd be—

Her voice fractured entirely, and she cut herself off with a quick breath, her jaw tightening as she composed herself. She placed the moss atop his cut with deliberate care, unwilling to meet his gaze just yet. She couldn't.