The Sentinels there lies a leafy island

Anyone that would be allowed this close to the den. :)

Her fear of the Otherworld was slowly abating, and for days, she often found herself sitting squarely before it— with a fierce longing, though the cold still dissuaded her. And Emaleth was quick to appear as though she had been doing anything else, particularly when Deirdre was awake, for this place still seemed forbidden. They had made a pact, anyway, that neither would cross— certainly not without each other— so that they would not be lost to the bright desolation that lay beyond.

And yet.

And yet, it was calling her— ever since her father had brought the strongly scented bough, the pine that Emaleth did not have a word for. Deirdre lay sleeping near the Giver, napping on a full belly, and so too did the Giver slumber. Wide awake and without companions to play with, little Emaleth sat upon the threshold of the Other, and watched the snowflakes— scented the air.

That smell! She wanted it, fiercely, but she could only smell it near the gate, now— and faintly. Emaleth growled quietly, frustrated by this limitation, bestowed upon her by an oath; but then a small thought occurred. How would her sister know, if she lay sleeping...? And the Forgetting was tightening its grasp, so that she did not remember how deeply attuned the sisters were to one another. Nor did she understand that both the cold and scent would cling to her small body.

It was a dark leaf that decided it for her; it drifted down through the falling snow, and landed against the flattened path leading out from the den. Her own thought was nonexistent— instinct drove her, to chase that dark silhouette and pounce upon where it lay in an endless sea of white. And so Emaleth did, startled as it crumbled beneath her. Distressed at the loss of her toy, she nearly cried— but then finally realized where she was, what she had done! The Otherworld!

She paused in wonder, large blue eyes drinking it in. There were no walls of warmth— only openness, and solitude. A curious feeling overwhelmed her, then. One she would later understand as relief. Here, there was room! For play, for herself. There was no Deirdre, constantly demanding her attention— attention she was glad to give, surely, but attention that also seemed to inexplicably wither her.

Feeling no fear, the cold yet to sink in, Emaleth merely absorbed all she could of this calming, peaceful place. Enraptured by each scent, each sound, each sight.