Blackfeather Woods Angel of small death

I draw a summoning circle @Roan

It would be hard, she told herself when she left. 

She would have to reaquaint herself with hunger, with trial and tribulation; none quite so great as the searing, biting pain that coursed through her leg, the muscles spasmed beneath her skin in protest, begged her to sit down. Yet, all of this was preferable to remaining there.

Limits.

Synder was at hers, travelling across rougher terrain had made sure of it. When she would finally cater to her body's pleading, she found a place beneath a tall oak, no canopy in the winter months to blanket her in its shade, just spindling, thin branches reaching for the heavens. For a long moment, eyes of cornsilk closed firmly, her focus attuned to the familiar flare of her injury, breaths materialized in the crisp air in ghostly billows

Prey was the next thing on her mind. She would see if she could scavenge something. Perhaps a river nearby would be generous enough to provide her a salmon. For now, she needed to rest, she could rest, nobody pursued her.

Not yet, at least. His shadow still taunted her at the edges of every clearing.