Barrow Fields this distance's never felt quite right

Looking for Rusalka or Drageda ig!
Setting Few days before DRG v. AS (backtracked), but after this & other stuff I'll link soon
Summary The trek from Stavanger Bay to Dragoncrest has begun to take a toll on the little Brana, she takes a moment for a much-needed  cry  respite, despite being in need of hugs quite exposed.

In the winter gloaming, her frosty figure gleaming in the late sun, Aure began to understand what it felt like to begin to implode on oneself; like a star that had burned for more than its scheduled death throe allotted, her mind was burdened to the point of straining. Her heart ached with the fatigued misery; her soul thrashed, in great, unbidden lunar flares.

"Ce mai pot face?" The she-wolf murmured, almost a whimper, as evening strung the earliest of its constellations out to last. Her spirit wanted to grasp onto anything, set upon anyone, and hoist them for her current rumination. Yet, she did not want it.

Perched amongst eroded boulders and crags within the frosted winter Barrows, the snowy Brana glowered at the ivory reflection of herself. Frigid breath stirred the not-yet iced-over waters of the creek shoving its way through the brisk earth; to eventually drop away over the side of the nearby cliffs. She longed for Dennan's scars to be whisked away with it, more often than not.

It should have been the lion-of-the-mountain that worried at her warbling thoughts, or her various encounters along the way since; or the flesh-eater, who she knew deep within her she was still who he hunted for ... even the salt-throned male at Stavanger, whoever he must be, should have netted her concerns more fiercely.

Instead, it was what the brine-lord had said: a life, 'unfulfilled', in the search for her brother where she could do nothing for being pledged to Drageda; how she had, quite frankly, relinquished all efforts if that was in fact the case. How it was her will to be forgotten, but that contradicted how she'd forever remain.

Impetuously, a hot haze made her argent eyes become bleary. Once upon a time, she would have torn open this very world to be reunited with her hanar once more; would have commanded it with all her star-stuff, would that she could, and strike into its very heart. 

And yet ... with those in the sound, - (and her lack of knowledge thereof) - and some harrowing kismet lingering on where the sky met the sea ... and how distraught this Drageda had become ... and her own ruin, only an ivory shadow of how hateful she had once been, if only to find Vonnaruil. And her fear: if was truly alive, did he even want to be found?

All of this first, true week came billowing up and out of her, something raspy and laborious; caught between her hiccuping lungs and hermetic throat in a desolate peal:

"What more can I do?!"

She didn't need to turn her bleary, dolorous eyes to the stars to know that they held no answer.