Deepwood Weald Black-eyed Susan

slams wren against the wall so hard she flattens like a pancake. also going to propose dating this for the 4th if that works for u?

She hadn't intended to go so far West, after having met with Marcus. But the thought of returning home while the last few waves of her season crashed, while his scent still clung to her, with the possibility of— no, no, that just wasn't right. 
And so she continued, nowhere in particular, tens of miles a day. The flatlands seemed to go on forever this far from the valley, and only rarely did they give way to proper tree coverage. It was odd, having chosen to travel when the point of joining a pack was so that she would not have to anymore. 
But nature made its own decisions, she supposed!

She had, at some point, crossed over into the weald. Tendrils of ferns cling to heavy trees, a soft carpet of moss beneath her. At least it was a shift in the monotony. Worn down was an understatement, and yet she could not bring herself to slow down. Just keep walking, just keep walking.