Whitewater Gorge we have no evidence it wasn't

Tendered by the past thoughtless, drowsy days that left her drifting as she was, the evening torments of her mind had left Aurëwen quick to bristle, even quicker to spit. So engrossed in today’s foraging was she that the wanderer’s words fell on ears numbed to all but her own thoughts — until she sniffed primly, to herself and into the late summer air.

With an uncharacteristically savage snarl, the silver spun in place; argent half-sight burning bright and cold and condemning whoever had so invasively grown in her presence. ...But then, it’d been she who had been unawares — so ridiculously unawares, as she often was — and when she saw the pale, limber masculine before her, she settled.

And soured.
“Anything that grows,” she warbled, the heat of her shrike of a daughter billowing through her own accented words. “And you?”