The stench of salt is heavy in the air, and it’s all she has to go off of really. When Ceridwen woke, a thick blanket of fog slithered through the forest, entwining through tree trunks.
She feels like an Eldritch God, shouldering off scraps of moss and loose leaves with a long groan and a grunt to follow. Maybe it suits her more than chain, dirt, and oil.
Heaving upwards, she shakes (bone necklace rattles) her thick coat—long for the summer, and sure to shed immensely, once her body conditions to… wherever this may be. She squints, glaring out into the fog, and lets her nose guide her further and further into the lull of salt, as if the ocean would have the answers she seeks.
She feels like an Eldritch God, shouldering off scraps of moss and loose leaves with a long groan and a grunt to follow. Maybe it suits her more than chain, dirt, and oil.
Heaving upwards, she shakes (bone necklace rattles) her thick coat—long for the summer, and sure to shed immensely, once her body conditions to… wherever this may be. She squints, glaring out into the fog, and lets her nose guide her further and further into the lull of salt, as if the ocean would have the answers she seeks.
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