Blackfeather Woods 'cause lately i've been waking up alone

for her spiritualist trade

It was with great hesitance that she ventured alone into the heart of wooded swamps and mired wetlands of the dark forest, finding for the first time that she shadowed stands of fog-cloaked woodland inspired a paranoia that was typical of others that walked the Woods. But not her, not until now. The gods here were not the spirits of her world as she had first thought, older, darker, whispering of things the Waterwitch could not yet decipher. Even if they differed somewhat, they were like her natal inua -- the Woods not unlike the darkness of her polar homeland. 

It had felt safe until Taikon. But she had as much a right to be here as he, despite her diluted blood. Rowan had given her sanctuary in his home, a place in his ranks. Taikon was not the first prejudiced man she had endured and the medicine woman would not allow the grump to scare her away from her newfound home. She had searched too long for it, suffered too much in pursuit of it to give it up for the lonely life of a wanderer again. 

Still, there was a hint of trepidation to her steps as she trotted through the woods -- floppy ears perked alertly and oceanic eyes scanning the gloomy timberland for possible threats or angry pack mates. She was bound for the formation of rocks she had found deep in the woods, a place where old bones and the withered spines of feathers clustered amongst unnatural groupings of strange rocks and the like. A temple of sorts, or at least it had been once -- perhaps to the nameless deities Imaq had felt watching her in the Woods. 

When she got there, the golden piebald slowed and walked up to one of the low, flat rocks in the center of the esoteric arrangements on reverent steps. She bent and gingerly placed the unfortunate songbird she'd captured earlier that morning upon the altar -- nudging the offering delicately into place before stepping back and admiring her slightly macabre handiwork, the tribal shaman finding nothing wrong with the act of sacrifice. 

She curled fluffy, speckled haunches underneath her and sat calmly, wondering if the gods would grace her with their strange voices again that day.