Deepwood Weald ᵇʷᵖ ilyë mahalmar ëa?

For @Cassandra!
Referencing this later

A gasp is smothered from behind shorn lips;
it does not occur to her until it's too late, until she has reached the point of no return, that she is staring: moonfull eyes beneath the red-rent ruins of once-lovely features for the seething colossus is unlike anything she has ever seen before. It glisters in the misted cascades of late morn, and in the soft hush, the stricken had only just risen from where she'd lain like ophelia. Great that is he, mottled; sifting underfern and even as he is so other Andraste cannot make sense of this; cannot enquire of it. 

It watches her.
She watches it.
Koaron, her mind murmurs.

She longs to touch this unearthen but she will not, even long after the pair had parted. There is much that lurk in these mists; and she can no more discern that previous encounter than she can bring herself to lord over it all.

Instead, she wends her way through the Weald she means to settle; but it is a half-hearted forage, muted by all that has occured in this past fortnight or so. Stampede, a strike ... and all that she longs for is simple: she is striving for the first, but cannot strive after the second. Nevermind the wildling within that harkens, wants to quest o'er trembling earth for the one who shrouds her dreams; tormentor!

If reign she is to do, then she surmises now that—I am a shepherd to my people.