The Heartwood Everything, everything, everything.

The marred stranger commented on her age, how she should not be on her own, and Ciri felt her chest constrict. She frowned deeply, solemnly, and averted her sunflower gaze to glance away through the surrounding foliage. Her gaze lingered on nothing in particular, for Ciri's focus remained firmly in her attempt to keep herself from falling apart at the seams.

She did not breathe a word of response, so reluctant she was to let this unknown wolfess see her break. It was important to her to mask any suggestion of suffering, so after a quiet moment the swallow inhaled deep and lifted her crown. Tilting her muzzle upward, her dark ears fluttered and she lashed her feathered tail; "Shikoba," she repeated, "is that your name?" A pause, to allow room for confirmation, "mine's Ciri."

She carried on, asked a strange question she hadn't expected, and an ear fluttered backward. "No," the young Ostrega blurted, a defensive edge to her tone. Ciri wasn't prepared to share her sorrows with Shikoba, but he last thing she needed was to carry the guilt of her thinking she was responsible, "I'm fine, I... everything will be okay."