Jade Fern Grove lying face up on the floor / of my vessel

It was hard to leave the hollow, though she swore to herself that she would return. Larkspur chose a direction at random and found herself heading north, crossing a patch of open ground before stepping into another woodland. Although it was several weeks into spring, a light snow had fallen overnight. Even here beneath the bare treetops, there was an inch-thick layer of powdery white. It was the soft sort of snow, so that she moved noiselessly through the undergrowth.

Feeling peckish, she began sniffing around for signs of small game. A set of tiny footprints in the snow betrayed the recent passage of a weasel. Spur licked her chops and crept along the trail. It led to the mouth of a small burrow. She assessed it for a moment and decided it was much too small to bother with forced entry. Instead, she lowered herself to the ground behind a nearby shrub, mustering patience as she waited for the weasel to reemerge.