Wapun Meadow ethereal

It was some time since the spirit had awakened from her slumbers. She did not remember much -- did not remember when she had last been here. Not here, not the forest, but here; the real world, the world that the wolves deemed important, the word of touches and pain and emotion, for most. It was not her world, but a part of her in the form of this mortal husk lived in it nonetheless. In the forest she had stayed for some time now, minding her own business. But the spirits were restless and therefore the pale wolf grew restless, too. Averna, they had one dubbed her, but these days she did not need a name but what the spirits called her -- and their speech was not as straight-forward and clear as the speech of wolf.

The loneliness had never bothered her before, but it was when the spirits fell silent and guided a path away from the Blackfeather Woods, whispering only in certain places, that the priestess decided to leave. One last offering was brought upon the long forgotten altar she used to tend to with the caretaker. She should go. The caretaker understood, that much the spirit was sure of. She had never come to understand whether she was a spirit herself -- a ghost, as some had called her -- or if she was simply the whisperer of spirits, the priest who told the foolish mortals with their ears and eyes shut tightly what the spirits wished.

It mattered little, she did suppose.

The spirits carried her to a field, and there she simply stood. Darkness surrounded her, but the stark whiteness of the snow matched the stark whiteness of the priest's pelt so she did not stand out overly much. She sniffed the air and listened to their spirits. East, they said, though the pale priest did not know nor understand why just yet.

relevant to the interest of @Astara or @Kiwi perhaps?