Goldsglen, in the Fornholdt. Set before this thread. :3
The sable-furred woman meandered through the trees, her chartreuse-colored eyes cast down to the earth. She hardly even looked around her to draw in the territory. There was something positively wonderful about this creepy old stand of trees, a tiny outcropping on the side of the mountain where the forest grew so thick she could hardly see the sun anymore. Eris wasn't quite sure if there was a god anymore—Ometeotl have mercy on her if he did exist—but she was certain there was magic in the world, and this was one of those peculiar places. Whether someone especially powerful had died here or spirits just lingered about, the air was thick with it. She could almost smell it beneath the explosion of spring pollen in the air.
Eris's chartreuse gaze meandered about the forest, searching for a particular sort of plant. She was used to the foilage of the desert and the thin forests surrounding it—these deciduous and coniferous trees were a mystery to her. Most of what she knew was suited for far warmer climates. Her shadow-furred fingers reached out to brush against the leaves, seeking one sort of plant in particular. Zacatapayoli required thorns, and she had yet to find any thorned bushes. Maybe Kaena would tell her who her father was if she was more pure—the sable-furred Lykoi did not know whether or not her mother subscribed to any religion at all. It was not the Atotoztli's place to save anyone else's soul, however, and even if Eris had been devout anymore, she would not have attempted to convert the scarred woman.
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