Stone Circle mars ain't the type of place to raise your kids

it is odd, this place, foreign until it isn't. in her roamings, she'll pass a boulder, a creek, and suddenly be struck with deja vu. she must have been so young when they'd left this place, she muses, and yet still the familiar nooks stir up the barest murmurs of memories. 

she is old now; not really, but it seems so in comparison the dim memories of her and Sunny that come to her now. so much has changed, broken, burned, and yet Easthollow still stands. she has loved, and lost, though the latter greatly outweighs the former. but she has begun to see, now, that even the little pieces of love and happiness she clutches close are worth all the rest. 

pausing, the woman moves to investigate a scent tucked close to the base of a birch, hoping for something fresh and intriguing enough to offer minnow a lesson.