2022-05-15 - Tributes

Firefly Forest. Mostly coniferous with the occasional maple or birch. A dark forest insofar that fast-growing spruces and firs are being fifty shades of opportunistic after the heavy logging operations of the 20th century cleared a lot of the old forest; sunlight filters through to the fores floor in places and absolutely not in other places.

Everyone local knows to stay away from the old lumber mill(s). Mainly the old Addington one because it's supposedly haunted to kingdom come, but also the others, the less famous ones. They're all derelict now; the logging industry has moved largely elsewhere. The new Addington mill still runs, but the rest have faded into the annals of history. Largely overgrown buildings, attractive to the occasional urban explorer, and no one else.

There's plenty of forest that doesn't contain the ghosts of lumber mills, however. Creeks and ravines, gorgeous glades, sloping hills. Paths clearly marked for hikers and runners. Less clearly marked paths, for hunters and locals who know where they're going.

Ravn Abildgaard likes to walk along those paths -- the clearly marked ones and the not so clearly marked ones -- for the sake of his asthma treatment (build up stamina by hiking) and because he's curious as hell. He's just about to turn off the clearly marked path, holding a small hiker's compass in one hand, along with a laminated map of the area.

Soft footfalls crunch down the path of the forest. Should she be out exploring the Forest, no, probably not, does she care, right now, also no, she is, however, smart enough to pay close attention to different markers on the path, though her sweeping attention soon falls on Ravn, and a single eyebrow raises in question. "Off exploring, Ravn?" Is called out to him, once close enough for her voice to carry above all of the other forest sounds.

Una Irving? She's not a hiking kind of person; she's more afraid of the woods than she is enthusiastic about them, much more likely to prefer reading a book in front of a fire-fueled-by-those-woods than actually walking in them. Maybe that's why she looks so honestly uncomfortable, clinging to her phone as she ventures down one of the perfectly-well-marked paths, quite as if she's likely to end up lost forever, or dead-by-cougar-attack.

Exactly why she's doing this, let alone doing this alone, is a story in and of itself. At least she's prepared, with a light pack, a water bottle swinging from it, proper footwear, and the rest.

It would be far too coincidental for her path to also converge with Willow's and Ravn's right now-- and it doesn't. Still, she's probably not that far away, as the crow flies; perhaps even close enough that if she listens, through the susurration of forest sounds, she might even catch the intonation of human voices. For now, however, the redhead pauses, back against one of those tall conifers, and attempts to breathe.

This is fine.

Wise decisions are not always Ava's strong suit. So of course she planted a few of those Veil figs out here in the forest where August told her they were ripe to plant. Why wouldn't the mad scientist listen to the mad botanist? They have the best ideas. Garrett managed to stop her from planting more figs, but he didn't stop her from planting some. So that means the ones that are planted need checking on.

Besides, hikes are great bonding experiences. Ava comes bounding along at a quick pace, speed walking with a little bouncing bundle sleeping on her back. She has a nice pack at her hip, and one ear bud in so that she can listen for trouble with the other ear. Coming up from behind Una, she spots a familiar spot of red hair and starts to pick up the pace a little bit to catch up.

Ravn looks up from his map. "Yeah. One of the blokes at the mill said they'd seen some things out here -- there's a ruined old log cottage from heaven only knows when down the path. I figured I'd go see if it's actually haunted or it's just one of those things the boys tell each other on lunch break."

For a ghost hunter he travels light. Nothing but a shoulder bag. At least the hiking boots are solid.

"What are you doing out here? Out for a run?" The folklorist glances at the bright orange dab of paint on a tree, clearly marking a running path. And because he does he spots another patch of ginger, and then another behind it -- and raises a gloved hand. "Looks like everyone's out here today."

She opens her mouth to answer, though turns to look where Ravn is looking and notes the other two people, strange, very strange. A slow shake over her head and her attention return to the man, "Run? No." She laughs, "No run, I went for a walk to think and now." She motions idly around her, though doesn't answer more on that topic, his ghost hunting topic becoming much more important to her than whatever is on her mind. "Mind some company?" She asks with a small lift of her lips.

Caught. Una flushes as red as her hair (redder, really) as the sound of footsteps behind her turns her head to identify Ava-- and the lift of a hand off ahead finds Ravn as well. "So much for..." she begins, more of a mutter than a statement intended to be heard, and whatever the end of that sentence was intended to be? She cuts it off, making sure that no one can pick up that much. Still; it's illustrative enough, in its own way.

"Hi Ava," is warmer than merely resigned, but lacking some of her usual enthusiasm; the embarrassment probably contributes to that. "Is that... oh, Ravn. Hello." She draws herself up off of the tree, dusting bark off of herself, and resignedly takes a few steps forward to approach the other two.

Ava offers Una a sheepish laugh when she spots the look on the other woman's face. "Oh no. I'm sorry. You were hoping not to run into anyone, weren't you? And I ruined that like a big ole ruiner. Well, Nimue and I won't tell anyone if you wo--" Well, there goes that. A hand lifts towards Ravn and Willow, smile broadening. "Sorry Una."

"Hey guys!" It's called out as she starts to head over towards the other pair, keeping pace with Una. Even though the baby on her back is sleeping, she doesn't seem to mind calling out, doesn't look like the blue bean is waking up any time soon.

"No, I don't," Ravn says and nods in greeting to the other two. "I didn't expect to run into anyone at this hour but there you go. I don't suppose any of you have seen an old man with a cow, and I quote, 'looked like he should be following George Washington around'?"

A nod is given to Ravn and that earns him another smile, "No, I can't say that I have." She turns to look at Una and Ava again, her eyebrows raising in question and surprise at the baby on Ava's back, why, why is it blue. A slow shake of her head and she puts it down in her brain with everything else she can't explain about this place, which is turning out to be a hell of a lot.

Una is gracious enough to acknowledge Ava's surmise with a rueful smile, and after a moment more, a shrug: she's caught, and so be it. "Apparently everyone had the same idea all at once, just to foil me," she comments, managing not to sound too upset. After all, aren't these woods better-- safer-- in numbers anyway? It would probably have been the better option anyway, to come out here with company.

"Wait," she says, catching up on the conversation. "A man with a cow, colonial-era-- well, no. Can't be colonial, can it? Someone's mixing up their costuming and history, unless we're talking a ghost-- we are talking a ghost, aren't we?-- who walked away from where he was supposed to be. An early settler ghost, though? With a cow?"

"Well, I came out here to check on my plants. See how they're doing without the help of faeries. Just nature taking its course. But getting to run into you while I'm here, even if you hate it, is a delight. So there." Ava gives Una a face and then grins before they makes it close enough to the others to hear what they're talking about.

"I can't say that I have. Only a Victorian era lad, running about with a goat," she teases. "Kidding." Because that has to be noted. "You're looking for just one specific ghost in these woods? Isn't that like trying to find a needle in a haystack?"

Why yes, the baby is blue! But since it's not brought up, Ava does not go into details. But look at how cute she is in her little pink bow. It's so sweet.

"Might as well walk that way and see. I have to walk for two, three hours in a day for my asthma so why not check it out?" Ravn hitches a shoulder. "Any of you want to come see if there is a log cabin and some lost settler from New Amsterdam, feel free to walk along. Figure that if there is a Mynheer van der Haag or something here he's pretty tired, though, because he'll have walked here from the East Coast."

The Dane sets off down the track, into those darker woods surrounding a path which soon enough disappears into the undergrowth. "This is why I brought the map," he murmurs. "I have the GPS coordinates for the cabin, at least. Let me know if you see anything weird?"

A big smile breaks out on her face, okay, could she be more excited. She, however, tries to hide it, right, scary place, ghosts are scary. She hooks her thumbs into the pockets of the jeans that she's wearing and nods, "Sure, I can do that." She falls into step a little bit behind Ravn, "At least we won't get lost."

Ava's plants? They get a frown from Una (though to be honest, she seems somehow comforted to have something to disapprove of-- and something to distract from whatever her reasons were for not wanting to run into anyone). She forestalls verbal judgement, though-- and at least manages to smile at the other woman.

That she's willing to accompany the Dane on his exploratory mission into the depths of the wood goes without verbal confirmation: it's enough that she falls into step behind, acknowledging Willow with a somewhat belated bob of her chin. "That'd be a long walk," she agrees. "Though I guess he would've had time to do it in? Still. Is there more to this story? Or just-- man with a cow, that's it?"

"I saw that!" Una's frown, Ava saw it. But Ava can only smile because she knows that it comes from the heart. Also, from a place of intelligence that says, 'hey, maybe that's a stupid idea'. Which is correct. It is a very stupid idea. Ava glances in the direction that it looks like Ravn is about to head and checks her watch. "Mmm. My plants are about another half mile up that way and I'm a little low on time else I would love to. So I think we'll part ways here. But keep me on speed dial in case anything bad happens while you're ghost hunting, yeah? I'll get a good run in."

Ava tosses a wave towards the group as they veer off the beaten path, and she stays on it, heading further into another part of the forest.

Veil figs or ghosts. Not really a difficult decision to make when you are Ravn Abildgaard who can speak to one but not the other. He wishes Ava good -- well, hunting is the wrong word but. Yes. That. Hopefully, nothing will emerge that's problematic. Speed dial, it saves lives.

The three of them proceed. "All Ray said was, some old coot with a cow, looked like he should have been following George Washington around," Ravn agrees. "Now, Ray's no historian so -- several pinches of salt. Entire trencher of salt. But, I'm guessing before modern times at least. Seattle wasn't settled until 1851 so 'Victorian' is actually a lot more likely."

The path emerges again, from the undergrowth as the three of them step into a small, sunlit glade. A bit of bushes and shrubs grow on a slightly elevated area. With a bit of a squint, yes, that might well be all that remains of some old log cabin from almost two hundred years ago.

"I guess we sniff around a bit and see if we find anything interesting," the Dane murmurs. "Mind you, when this place has its GPS coordinates listed on various websites for ghost hunters, odds are it's picked pretty clean."

Una shoots a glance after Ava, as if she wants to argue that the ghosts are probably a safer bet than the figs; that maybe Ava should remember the speed dial more than the remaining cluster-- but she saves her breath. Since when did that ever really help anything, after all?

She's polite enough not to comment even after the doctor is out of earshot, though the frown she's wearing lingers, even as Ravn explains.

That doesn't mean she doesn't exhale softly as they emerge into the clearing. "Oh, this would have been a charming spot for a homestead," she whispers, clear enough despite her low volume. "I suppose," is added, a little more loudly, "that depends on whether the ghost hunters in question could actually see what was here, doesn't it? These would've been the foundations, I think? Let's see."

Willow is tickled pink and couldn't be happier so she happily follows Ravn into, hopefully, not sudden death. Slowing when she sees the cabin, one hand unhooks from her jeans so she can push some hair out of her face and hopefully get a closer look, without getting too close. "Looks quiet so far." is offered, though not to anyone in particular.

Ravn walks around the small elevation as well; brambles cover it, and it's too early in the year for blackberries, alas. "I'm thinking so. It always fascinates me how small these things really were. We're so used to having space. Whoever lived here would have fitted ten people into a trailer and thought they lived in a palace."

"Place is palace enough fer me," says another voice, jovial and sounding a little amused. "Reckon you city folks are a bit ways from home, though."

There's a man standing in front of where the door will once have been. He was not there a second ago. He's dressed in what your resident historian would identify as Civil War era clothing, were he not busy gaping. A long silver beard finishes the image -- and behind him, a black and white Holstein heifer on a lead.

Not quite George Washington era, indeed.

Una's dropped to a crouch to get a better look at what were, once, the foundations of a perfectly good little house. She's there, in that very position, nodding along to Ravn's conjecture when that new voice speaks up, and her head shoots up correspondingly. It's distinctly not a matter of freaking out, though: there's a moment of surprise, and then a twitch of her mouth. George Washington era, no. Interesting? Oh yes.

"I reckon we are," she agrees, rising back to her feet and acknowledging the man with a dip of her chin. "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir. You and-- that's a fine cow you've got there."

Willows head also turns at the voice, funny, she doesn't feel like running away screaming. No, she feels just fine about this sudden ghost popping up at the homestead. A hand lifts in greeting, another smile on her lips, "Yes, very nice place you have here." Wait, there's a cow? She looks past the figure and blinks, yup, cow.

"Reckon I'm mighty proud of me Betty." What accent is this? Veil-thinks-this-is-Victorian-English, no doubt, with a dash of gentleman farmer and quite a hefty amount of somebody's jolly old uncle. "Ye fine folks thinks she'll be enough for the Rook? Might haveta move back into Lumber Town if she ain't, and who wants to do that?"

Ravn scritches his chin. What he knows about cows would take up a very small page in a farmer's manual. "Lumber Town, eh."

The farmer hitches a shoulder. "Don't think it's got an official name yet. Where the river meets the bay."

"Gr-- oh!" Una's automatic move to name the place she's surmised to be meant by the farmer is hastily cut short. Would it do any harm? Probably not. Should she do it anyway? Perhaps better not, to be safe.

Instead: "The Rook? I'm-- we're new in the area, clearly. I'm not sure I've heard that name before."

Willow bites the inside of her cheeks to keep herself from saying that might piss the ghost off. Rather, she crosses her arms over her chest, "Yes, Betty is a..fine cow." She sweeps her gaze to the cow again. The name The Rook though brings her attention back and she looks over at Una and Ravn for help, hoping that they know what he is talking about.

"Mighty big bird," says the farmer and turns his cornpipe over, emptying it out on the ground. "Reckon I gotta give him something worth eating, he'll leave the rest of my cows alone."

He nods and then smiles in that way of a farmer who's proud of his herd -- at the empty wood behind him. There may have been a paddock full of cows there once. There certainly isn't now.

"Moo," says Betty the cow. She probably doesn't understand.

"I'm off to tie her to the sacrifice tree," he tells the three and doffs his forelock. "I'll be seein' you fine folks around, no doubt. Godspeed!"

"... bird," repeats Una, abruptly looking a little discomforted. And, for that matter: "... sacrifice tree?"

No, that's definite discomfort, though she manages a weakly polite smile for the farmer, all the same. She's not dressed to curtsey, the way a woman of this supposed day would, and so her little bob of a not-quite-curtsey-not-quite-bow is awkward and probably out of place, but, well.

She casts a glance at Ravn, then at Willow.

Sacrifice tree?!

"Did he say sacrifice tree?" She whispers to Ravn and Una, yes, she didn't want to ghost to hear, sue her. She does, however, nod her head as the ghost decides to go tie up his already dead cow, though she still seems more confused than anything else.

The farmer cheerfully trots along the path that the three contemporary people arrived from. The cow plods after him, unaware of her impending fate.

Ravn looks after them. "I think he did. And I'm somewhat torn between -- well, following or not following. Place's obviously haunted. But that also means. Well. Means they're both already dead."

"And probably..." Una swallows. "Dead because of whatever happened at that tree. I mean, I have to admit, I'm curious." Morbidy curious, probably, given the way she looks a little unwell, a little green.

"I want to know what kind of... evil bird thing. Dragon? Something."

Well, Willow is completely curious and she even takes one step towards the ghost, though stops and looks back to Ravn and Una, she isn't about to do this alone so she hopes that, at least one of them is as curious as she is. "I'm all for following." She smiles, "If you guys are."

"Well, I've certainly met less pleasant ghosts," Ravn murmurs.

It's certainly not hard to follow the man and his cow. The path was already cleared somewhat by their feet coming one way -- and now they walk the other. Curiously, there are no prints of cloven hooves left in the undergrowth. Betty the Cow must step very, very lightly.

The path leads back towards the town, or at least towards the official marked path. Maybe this is how Ray the mill worker might have come upon the very same farmer, sometime last week?

"They're not all like this," murmurs Una, likely meant as a cautionary warning to Willow. "And-- to be fair, we don't know what waits at the other end of this. So it's always worth being careful. I just-- poor Betty. The poor farmer, too, I think."

She's frowning, now, as they retrace their footsteps. If anything, perhaps she anticipated going further into the woods, not closer to the path.

A simple nod is given to Una, "Yes, I'm sure." She smiles, "Sorry, I shouldn't be this excited, it's just that." She motions with one hand down the path, "First ghost and all." She tries to tone down the excitement, trying to remind her just where the hell they actually are.

"There are definitely more scary ghosts than this one," Ravn agrees and tucks his laminated map back into his pocket. The little hiker's compass goes the same way. After all, a cow is not hard to follow.

The little troupe makes it back to the main path easy enough. Once there, the farmer heads further up the path, towards the old lumber mills. "It's up by the mill," he says over his shoulder, in that tone as if there can be only one of those (when in fact, there was once enough to have this town called the largest lumber port in the world). "The old Baxter place nearby. Funny folks, those. Don't mean as to speak poorly of me neighbours, but that lot? Born half crazed and life does the rest."

"I don't suppose you know a bloke named Gohl?" Ravn asks, tentatively, because historian's got to historian.

"Ain't ever heard of 'im," says the farmer. "I mind my own business mostly. Them Baxters, though? They say the womenfolk turn into birds."

Some small part of Una is perhaps amused at Willow's excitement - not in a dismissive way, but perhaps in the recognition and reminiscence of what it was like, when all of this was new-- when she didn't have that same inclination to be afraid of everything, because even that which seems fine may not actually be.

Mention of Gohl earns a shudder, and a look from Una to Ravn. From Una towards the farmer, too, though he's off the hook with his lack of awareness.

"Turn into birds?" she says, a little tentatively, her brow furrowing all over again. "Like the bird that eats your cows? Have you seen this bird?"

She idly kicks at something near her feet, her hands slipping into her pocket as she walks. "Gohl?" Is asked softly, and she looks from Una to Ravn and then back to the farmer again, though the quip about birds /almost/ causes her to miss-step, "Yes, what do you mean birds." She asks of the ghost that they are following, further and further into the woods.

"They got bird names, those women. And then they go ax crazy and chop up their menfolk. That's how it works." The farmer's shoulders rise and fall; he doesn't make the rules around here.

Up the hill, a grand old cedar overlooks a ravine and below -- far below -- the bay. This is the kind of tree that the locals will have a name for. The Old Cedar. The Giant on the Hill. The Hanging Tree. Or in this case? The Sacrifice Tree.

It's not marked on Ravn's map as such. He's a folklorist, he'd have noticed.

The man ties the cow's lead to a branch. Then he pats her forehead. "Sorry, lassie. You been a good cow and you deserve better. I'm sorry."

"Gohl--" Una begins, but the farmer is answering, and her answer is going to have to wait. She offers Willow a quick nod: she'll explain later, just ask.

This is at least in part because she's distracted by what the farmer has to say-- frowning, too. There's something very vaguely akin to recognition in her expression, except-- no. she doesn't have it. Nope.

It's a beautiful tree, though. And a beautiful cow. "Will you stay to watch?" she wonders of the farmer. "Or is this a... let her go in peace kind of deal? It's such a shame."

Una is given a simple nod, yes, she can find out about it later, now doesn't have to be the time. Any other questions she might have are kept to herself, and for now, as she continues to walk along the path, her full attention returning to their spectral guide. Upon seeing the tree, her gaze skims it, "Wow, that /is/ beautiful." At Una's question of the farmer, Willow looks back to him, obviously curious about the response.

"Oh, I don't reckon I want to be here and see it," says the farmer's ghost. "Awful, that's what it is. Sometimes, I find the bones and the bits in, well, all over." He hitches up his coat collar. "Me, I been here and done what I got to do, and now I'm goin' home. You good city folks want to stay, that's on you."

Ravn looks after him as he starts to walk. "I -- kind of want to stay, but I also have to say that in every narrative ever, it's a good idea to heed that kind of salt of the earth warning."

Una hesitates-- perhaps she's torn. "Willow?" she prompts. "Do you want to stay? Or shall we-- heed that warning and go?"

Well this causes Willow to pause and chew on her lower lip in thought, "I want to stay." She finally says with a smile, though noting Una's concern, her smile loosing a little bit of that excitment, "Though I'm new here, and if the two of you think it's better to leave, than I'm not going to argue the point."

"I think we should get out of here or at least retreat to the edge of the glade where we've got some cover." Ravn nods and starts to turn -- and then doesn't walk because sure enough, somebody else is approaching along the path.

A woman. From her shawl and her gait, not a spry young one, either -- though her bonnet obscures her hair, one gets the impression she's gone well and thoroughly grey. She leans on a cane and pauses to blink owlishly at the three strangers as they stand next to the cow.

"You're a strange lot," she declares, eventually. "But this here cow, she's mine, and ye better not be wanting an argument about it."

Too late.

It takes Una a moment to regain her equilibrium after the arrival of the woman-- mostly that's because she's frowning so very deeply, offended on behalf of the poor farmer and his cow.

"You.... you're stealing his cow," she accuses. It's not quite the story she had imagined. "You've got everyone all terrified so that they give you their animals, and-- you're just taking them. Why?"

It's not very like Una, but sometimes she does have her moments of righteous anger; this is one of them.

She was okay with leaving, see, she isn't even upset when they at least decide to get to a safe distance. Upon seeing the old woman, she quickly stops and looks over her, echoing Una's words, "Your..cow?" She however doesn't ask more than that and seems quite happy to let Una set the woman straight.

The older woman scoffs. "Why? Because a woman's got to eat, girl. What, that one feed you both?" She nods towards Ravn who opens his mouth and then quickly shuts it because what he wanted to say right there was probably better left unsaid. "He gets tired of you, lassie, he'll find himself another young thing and you'll be a widow in the woods like me."

She pats the cow. "This one, she's a fine one. She'll feed me for days. Better to eat a cow than to eat a man, don't ye be thinking? Way as I see it, I done him a favour, taking his cow and not him."

"I think we might just... have to agree to disagree," Ravn murmurs.

See Una. See Una turn scarlet, and then darker still, as much with anger as with embarrassment.

"You were... going to take him instead? You could?! I don't... I think..."

So maybe a little less composed, now.

She looks from Una back to Ravn, back to the old woman, did she just say what Willow thought she said. She does, however, manage not to comment, and instead leans her hip against a nearby tree, though honestly, she isn't sure what to say at this point, so seems quite happy to watch the chaos unfold.

"Tell you what, ma'am, I'll go feed these ladies somewhere else just about now," Ravn says -- and uncharacteristically for him, puts his fingers on Una's arm. Now's a great time to go. Let's go. Are we gone yet?

"Ye better be feeding them well," the old woman observes. "The other one looks skinny. Ain't healthy for a lass to be skinny in these parts, the winters get mighty cold."

It's distinctly uncharacteristic, and Una? It makes her shiver-- but there's no hesitation in the way she nods at Ravn, nor the way she gestures towards Willow.

"No indeed," she says, hastily. "We'll feed her up. Soon she'll be as fat as I am, and we'll all survive the winter. Thank you!"

It's time to be gone.

She looks down at herself, she isn't \that\ skinny, is she, though not wanting to argue, she just pushes herself from where she was leaning, hands coming down to brush off any remnants of tree and moves to follow the other two out. She isn't about to stay here if it's better to leave.

"Godspeed," agrees the widow and unties the cow's leash.

Soon enough, she's headed one way and Ravn is trying to herd his little flock of apparently wives, mistresses, whatever, in the other direction. He doesn't say a word more until he's out of earshot.

Then he does. "There's something fucked up here. The Celaeno family didn't arrive in Gray Harbor until later. We're somewhere in the Civil War Era, they got here early 20th century. Either way, the local story is that they turn into birds. More modern version, they go insane, kill everyone around them. Please don't make Miss Celaeno uncomfortable about it -- she hasn't eaten anyone. And it's wrong, they're not supposed to be here yet."

He rubs his temple with a gloved hand. "Fucking Veil. Happy to mess with dates and names, just to make everyone uncomfortable and doubt whether they got the story right. Either way, not somebody to mess with."

When Ravn speaks, Una points a finger at him, though it seems to be less about him and more about, "I knew that was familiar. But that's... fucking Veil. It's making shit up again. That," she tells Willow, with a frown, "means it probably isn't a real ghost. Just us being fucked with. Because that can't have happened, not the way history records it."

Una's irritation-- even outright anger-- is unabated. "Finch would be furious."

Willow says, "What?" She looks confused, oh so confused, "So that wasn't a ghost?" her arm moves in the general direction of where they were, "Wait, it can do that, it can change dates, things that happened. Jesus, well that is just fucked up." Her arms cross over her chest, "And I'm not too skinny." Sure, that's what she's taking from this."

"It can do pretty much whatever it wants. It may all even have been real but somewhere else. The Celaeno family came here from somewhere, after all. Might just be the right story, but the wrong place. Might all be made up. No way to tell. Didn't occur to me to ask either person's name, and on some level, it doesn't matter either." Ravn breathes out. "Memo to me, yes, that ruin is haunted. Memo to me, tell Ray it might be wise to just leave it alone."

Una's waved hand acknowledges everything Ravn's just said, though she looks about ready to just storm off.

Pause. Deep breath.

"Yeah," she says. "Just leave it alone. Let the man and his cow 'haunt'," why yes, she does make those inverted commas with her fingers, "in peace. I'm... I'm going home. I'm done. I fucking hate the woods."

Willow simply lifts her shoulders in a shrug, it's not like she knows half of what they are talking about, but hey, she saw it, so that's something. "Good call Ravn." To Una, she nods, "I'll walk back with you."