Northstar Vale ¹ oþlō

Where the sunlit shuddered, the starlit snickered;
for she has not seen such a sight in many seasons  (not that she were able, really)  and, given the fact that all were in a famine, she might not pass up the offer of supping the red flesh of ursine from dark fur, either. Deranged, she must be, yes; why ever had Andromaque answered her asinine call? -- but it should not matter, not now, not yet. Perhaps, when they felled the beast ...

For now, she treads featherlight; bids the flame to do the same. Ahead is the splintering snatch of boughs; the snapping of fronds beneath a great and swaying weight; Andraste drops low, then, and slinks further into the underbrush for the sake of remaining veiled if ever the behemoth should show itself.