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She returns to Cabeswater, though she tells herself nothing will come of it. She believes nothing will come of it, and berates herself for even bothering right up until she steps over that invisible border between woods and Woods. Then it gets a bit harder to convince herself that anything is impossible. Cabeswater, much like the Woods she came from, has a very Possible sort of feeling to it.
Which is precisely why it's dangerous, but here she is.
She's not even sure why she felt compelled to visit today. Tromping around the forest never sent her home the first few times she tried it, and she can't bring herself to wish for her family's arrival. Maybe it's just been too long, part of her worried that she might forget the way back to the spot where she arrived. Maybe Darrow's starting to feel just a little bit too comfortable, and she wants to remind herself of where she really came from.
At any rate, it's peaceful and quiet out here. Darrow is so loud, and there's a difference between growing accustomed to it and liking it. Aside from birds, her own footsteps, and the paces she's counting under her breath, there's nothing - no traffic, no machinery, no snatches of overheard conversation. No tell-tale snapping twigs, either, so a flash of white out of the corner of her eye is the only hint that she might not be alone.
Greta stops in her tracks with a sharp, startled inhalation, peering through the trees. She can't help but wonder if it might be the white of a cow, or a steed fit for a Prince, though it's probably neither. "Hello?" she calls out uncertainly, then winces, immediately regretting the outburst. She's alone in a magical forest; maybe she shouldn't be drawing attention to herself.
Which is precisely why it's dangerous, but here she is.
She's not even sure why she felt compelled to visit today. Tromping around the forest never sent her home the first few times she tried it, and she can't bring herself to wish for her family's arrival. Maybe it's just been too long, part of her worried that she might forget the way back to the spot where she arrived. Maybe Darrow's starting to feel just a little bit too comfortable, and she wants to remind herself of where she really came from.
At any rate, it's peaceful and quiet out here. Darrow is so loud, and there's a difference between growing accustomed to it and liking it. Aside from birds, her own footsteps, and the paces she's counting under her breath, there's nothing - no traffic, no machinery, no snatches of overheard conversation. No tell-tale snapping twigs, either, so a flash of white out of the corner of her eye is the only hint that she might not be alone.
Greta stops in her tracks with a sharp, startled inhalation, peering through the trees. She can't help but wonder if it might be the white of a cow, or a steed fit for a Prince, though it's probably neither. "Hello?" she calls out uncertainly, then winces, immediately regretting the outburst. She's alone in a magical forest; maybe she shouldn't be drawing attention to herself.
