Bearclaw Valley Single file, like soldiers on a mission.

The stone at the entrance to the Bearclaw valley was a mark of the bear spirits that lived here, although the priest herself did not acknowledge them as bears necessarily. All was energy and she did not visualise most of the spirits in anything other than the colours and abstract shapes they appeared to her in at times. Her vision was filled with these at all times, which was why as of late she had been drowning so much in the depths of her spirituality; not a thing she minded, necessarily, though the last tethers of her mortality had not yet allowed her to leave this plane and fought hard to keep the priest here.

The children were mostly forgotten in the process, though at times she was reminded of them. But they often were left to fend for themselves, not because the ghost thought it was better or would make them strong, not because she disliked them; simply because she was so lost in her own world that there was little place to be truly a caretaker. She let them tag along, she let them share her warmth in the nights, she let them eat what she caught — she had never needed much herself nor felt much desire or hunger for food, as shown by her small and narrow physique — but she offered them little in the way of maternal love or active caretaking.

When the priest arrived at the entrance she was just in time to see one of these forgotten youth scatter some small bones that were placed there meticulously. She did not even remember if it was her who had placed them — though it was likely — and she did not instantly respond, either. They will not like that, she said simply, her pale gaze boring towards him, though her face showed only a grin that could only be described as a sign of madness.