Dragoncrest Cliffs dead men tell no tales

Vermin ink had been scheming, occupied her mind with plans while she sat in the redmist gloom of the ravensblood wood, guards to rotate between keeping her in their sights. Lots of time for schemes to take form.

She'd muddied her fur, made it wiry and unkempt, bathed in the wolfscent of Murkwood and even tore a few nicks into the back of leg; painting a vision of a struggle, a poor ravaged shadow on the run from her tormentors-!

It was with one sharp breath as she ran, that her features would twist into someone unrecognizable, terror in her eyes, a quiver to her jaw. She immersed herself in the very same night she left it all behind. Oh, Erylis. She was her again.

When the shade made her way there, she let out fast, choking breaths, stumbled as if the fire in her limbs was worn to embers, the last strength of a desperate girl coming out in strings of frantic words. Help me- Please! She called as she drew closer, tears streaking the silver of her undereyes. P-please- t-there was- there was a man and and- she fell forwards and stumbled on her words, kept a short distance between them for now. Please don't send me away- She pleaded through sobs, pleaded as if she spoke to old faces and begged for old mercies.