Dragoncrest Cliffs —i can't help but pull the earth around me,

Winter's fury still nuzzled at her quivering limbs as she rose to her full height, petite or no. That somnolent, weightless madness that'd overwhelmed her still remained. It was there, as evident on the congealed blood that daubbed her from throat to breast. And all that she'd meant to prevent from happening had... happened.

Nonwithstanding the brana's aid, she had slain a soul. In death, she'd believed for so long that Rakk would continue to haunt her, and that his gore that warmed her heart would forever be some spectrecal reminder of his reign. But, no ; although vengence hadn't brought her any such peace, she was as blameless as Natjuk, in this. Rakk was dead, and dead will out. This had been borne out of defense of property and person alone — hadn't it?

After a century, she lifted her unseeing eyes to Natjuk. Blank, lovely eyes. Mad eyes. A mad girl. Austere and aureate and unfeeling, once again the self-made, wrathful child that she'd made herself become entire eons ago. The skayona had turned as white as cold wax, and went about the now-carrion like a silent phantasm, like the poor pale women in old ballads who fade away until they are nothing more than greyed bodements to the living. As it stood, she didn't care if she became just that.

Like the maimed girl she'd once woken as, she was mute, they eventually cast the wolf-eater's remains far from both the cliffs and the Tangled-wood. And then, with the light shining right through her red body, she returned to the sequoias like an abandoned ship drifting on a sea without horizon. 

It would be hours before she finally washed the blood from herself; and maybe an eternity before she became 'Aure' again.