A season.

Had it passed back home? Had it all come to a head? Was her kingdom still standing, its flag waving in the gentle spring breeze? Did winter linger in the peaks, snow held at bay by twisting, kind forests? Did the festival to wake the spring happen, this year? It had always been her favorite, she had spent so long in the fields to gather a perfect harvest of flowers. All the better for distributing to her ladies in waiting, their nimble fingers joining her own in weaving flower crowns. How she’d take to the streets in a rough-hewn dress and no shoes, and blend into the crowd.

There was none of that here.

She was among the bison. Where she’d fallen. She stood strong on all four of her lupine legs now, the motions becoming familiar in a way that made her want to tug her hair out at the root. But she didn’t have hair anymore, nor hands to tear it out with. Instead, she was a damned animal, with no sword to wield, no kingdom to call her own. Away from that damned demon but at what cost? He would kill her people. He would drive them into their graves. He would tear apart that idyllic life in the mountains, taint it with his hands.

Rosenrot couldn’t do anything.

All she could do was stand there, and stare at the approximate spot she had fallen in, with a twist to her maw, and unbidden tears in her eyes.

Kaelith