Bonesplinter Ravine pack it up

She kept her distance from them. Sleeping alone in a sheltered crag through the night, wondering if Dreven was following. Surely they'd have met up by now if he was.

A strange feeling hovered over her as of late. Her importance slipping.

She knew the girl and she knew Lorcan harboured his affections for her, but to come out of the bramble with a spontaneous wife prompted a feeling of unease within. Not jealousy, per say, monogamy was not a beacon of importance in her life, but just...

Inadequate. Her importance waned and it gave her mind little rest.

Even beyond them, it was this journey itself. For what use was she, without herbs in her corner, without thralls at her beck and call? Dead weight, that was what. it was a feeling that made her wish to crawl out of her own skin, uneasy, uneasy, anxious.

And so, she returned to her old haunts, slinking off in the night, having mangled a fox and left its body to bake under the morning sun; a nice meal for any hungering vultures. It was in this dance of mutilation that she found a sort of expression. Tendons snapping, muscles tearing away, like opening a gift, she liked to peer inside and see every gear that worked a silent labour beneath the surface; a kaleidoscope of beautiful inner machinations, her eyes and her brain soaked it all in. There was study, in this macabre tango.

But sometimes, sometimes she just liked to hurt them. Made her own problems seem a little smaller, it gave some respite for feelings she didn't quite know what to do with, how to face.

Lorcan's voice on the breeze gained a flick of an ear from her, she ceased gnawing on the fox bone, a leg, and shuffled it gently off the cliff ledge before rising. Let's go then. She muttered, taking a few paces ahead.