Hushed Willows Pick a place to die where it's high and dry

Even days after stationing herself in what was supposed to be a "temporary situation", Eilonwy couldn't get over the air of tranquility that seemed to flow through the rustling leaves of the many willow trees in the area. The tree she'd picked as shelter seemed like it had been carved out just for her, right under the crooked, twirly roots that wrapped around a ledge and overlooked a stream of snowmelt water that ran down the mountain. Tendrils of rustling leaves flowed with the air closing off a circle around her little crevice like some kind of curtain. It was her little bubble, her own tiny universe, and she was having a moment.

A few scraps of dried out grass laid to her side, and Eilonwy herself laid upside down, flowing with the wind just like the willow leaves caressing her face as they swayed back and forth. She felt whole. She was so deep inside her own mind that she wouldn't have noticed the pale fae wandering about if she'd cared to try.