The Sentinels even the sun can be overwhelmed by a thunderstorm
slowly drifting, wave after wave
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when permitted to leave the place that had sheltered donnelaith, deirdre did so. she ushered away the contact of any so that she could freely mourn, but when she looked to donnelaith she saw much death and darkness. it fractured her heart, and deirdre thought of her father and how he had sought emaleth; her flowers were gone, but emaleth, emaleth might yet live!

and so the cub burst into the wood, thinking only of the being her soul called to. and she ran and ran into the forest, calling for her morosely, her lachrymose melody causing the wind to howl between the teeth of the trees branches that dragged nakedly against one another. and so they still lived! she could hear them! but they hurt, the trees, and she, looking upward, stumbled over her own large feet mid mad-dash.

she tasted blood; she had bit on her tongue hard enough to wound it some. and when she opened her eyes, groaning, deirdre caught sight of bare-bones, as disgarnished as her flowers and lacking any scent at all that she could name. the wind had been wild moments ago, but now the whole world fell into an eerie disquiet. the locusts! the locusts had done this! stripped her sister to nothing, nothing at all but this, leaving not a lick of flesh or muscle or...

she threw herself possessively over the bones. deirdre was unable to process this loss fully, and though she had been taught of death, and had been taught of the spirits and their selection, she looked to the high heavens, grey and colorless, and said fiercely, you will bring her back to me. you will bring her back to me! her eyes turned to the bloated locusts that languished upon the tree, and deirdre let out a roar as she raced to them, madly dashing her paw against them in a slashing gesture, reminiscent of the way her father had bludgeoned the monstrous pale ogre. the wind howled as though it had heard her, and deirdre, dissatisfied and hurting, turned her back upon the things she had ended in cold blood and made for a bone.

her father had told her, there is nothing that can be done. she, the pale witch with the deconstructed and dead-looking forest of donnelaith reflecting from her em'rald eyes, would show him that there was, though she knew she must do this thing alone.