Blackfeather Woods she is the fairies' midwife, and she comes

backdated to the 17th

The draw of the forest is unmistakable; it reminds her so much of home that she must at least give it a look. She parts from the vivacious girl with some sorrow, though she knows it is more likely than not that their paths will cross again. Women like them never stop moving. That is why she must continue.

The dark woman sniffs around the edges of the woods, the old bones and smell of dead things a comfort in her nostrils. All at once, Mephala rises up around her, and she is wrapped in the familiar presence of the daedra. She peers into the trees, hope, for once, blooming up within her chest. She has never allowed herself to dream, but something about this place. . .

There is no way her sister is alive. Too many years have passed, and Meldresi was seasons older than she. But Miraak. . .and his children. And their children. Meldresi's children.

Pah. It is foolish to dream. She shakes her head, stepping away from the borders. Nay, likely just some macabre pack bent on conquest, and keeping outsiders away. The matron begins to pad off, heading north once more, her steps heavy but determined.