perhaps she should've been more careful with where she set out. alone. in a world that has already tried to kill her.
her chuffs and warnings go unanswered. but there was something there. there had to be, right?

the keen eyed woman notices the shifting of the dirt but the fog and moon work in tandem, disguising whatever it was she was accompanied by. its hard to hear with the thumping of her heart echoing through her and rattling her senses. still, it was common for the eyes to play tricks during the night. as wolves, they are adapted to the night but it was only natural for the imagination to run wild. racharra resorts to only a flash of teeth, the language of beasts to whatever it was that may have passed by, but reserved enough to not make her appear insane to the moon goddess.

she returns to her ritual, having forgotten her place. Nuit still bleeds, her blood seeping onto the flower. racharra is half tempted to return to the druids, but she remains anchored in her seat. frozen in primal fear.