Sunset Valley Tell it to my heart,

@Blackfell : backdated to March 15, two days after their arrival in Winsook

the valley was still.
thick trees grew ancient here, their limbs heavy with snow and silence. few dared wander this deep, where the shadows fell in slants and the wind held its breath. and so it was here, beneath the gnarled roots of an old fallen cedar, that morwenna carved her sanctuary.
hidden beneath woven branches, dried moss, and stone, her den was small—just enough. enough to keep the cold out. enough to keep her children in.
within, the warmth of her body cloaked two small lives: fa’liya, the fiercest spark, nestled close and quiet now, and caan, her fragile son, whose small cries had grown fewer with time, though the pain still laced his every breath. she nursed them with the steadiness of a storm long since passed, movements methodical. loving.
her tongue ran over caan’s little leg, the joint still hot beneath the skin where it had broken. she soothed it with herbs brought from the river, chewed and pressed into a poultice, and gently she straightened the limb—again, and again, and again—hoping his bones might remember the right shape.
but her heart knew what her teeth could not fix.
the den pressed close around her. protective. quiet. and yet… not enough. not forever.
her eyes turned to the opening in the earth, where shadows played with light.
and then—she moved.
her head lifted slowly from the hollow, pale muzzle emerging into the cold dusk. breath curled from her nostrils like ghosts. and from her chest, a song poured.
not loud. not frantic.
a mother’s song. low, aching. the kind that curved with mourning, but held hope within the fold of every note.
blackfell, her voice begged. please.