Tinnaire brushed aside the last of the forest detritus and smiled where she squatted. The bones were clean; she’d been waiting to collect them, once the forest was done with the rest. A lynx skull, a femur, a few lumbar vertebrae, and a run of coccygeal bones. Not precisely white, but cleaner than when she’d marked them on her little treasure map.
Eversong, for all it had been through the last few decades, was still an ecology she tried not to disturb until nature had gotten its due. Death had sown here. But not always in the Scar variety.
She tugged at the fingers of her riding glove and folded it over her wrist, intent on a tactile prayer of thanks. It would make fine art and she felt her heart swell with gusts of inspiration as the pieces were packed carefully away.