Kintla Flatlands old and merry tune

set between morningside and silvertip, nearish the coastal territories.

She missed her meadow, more than she'd thought. It'd become far too easy to attach significance to places that she'd grown fond of, and the life of a wanderer was not one that fit her well. Still, she did not relent, for this life would soften and conform once she'd stuck it out long enough, surely. She'd chosen this path, after all, it'd seemed natural, with her gifts and unwillingness to stay at home. 

The place between the pack and the mountains paled in beauty to the burning-river-place, but it would suit her needs for the night. She wished so to return to the meadow; but could not allow herself to get too comfortable in a certain place, lest she never leave it. And thus she scooped out the mountain's foothills, searching for cover from the squalls and wind, and prey, should she find it.