Cricket Creek Bog an afterglow, abandoned no longer

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talvani’s eyes narrowed from where she crouched along the rise. she had not meant to find anyone here. the land was too thick, too gnarled, too soaked in strange fog and stories. but the woman laughed—and laughter did not belong in the hinterlands, not unless you were its devil.
she moved soundlessly, picking her way through fern and root until the sun kissed her shoulders. she was leaner now, stripped down by weeks on the edge of the world, fur rough with travel and scent marked by wild things. her voice was low, blunt, not unfriendly—just edged like the blade she’d once been named for.
you don’t know it yet, she said, stepping from the trees, gaze set on the bright-eyed woman by the water. but it knows you.
a pause, then, as she came closer. talvani didn’t bristle. didn’t posture. she looked, appraised—then flicked her gaze to the river, where the woman had been speaking.
water’s sweet here. too sweet. a pause. that’s how the land gets you.

hope this is okay:)