There was a certain mystic quality to the wood that even the most hardened of souls could not deny. It was just a forest, not the mighty Wardwood, but the fierce onslaught of winter had left it white and barren and pristine. The air of strange happenings was not lent by anything so mundane as a Guardian - awakened or no - and it certainly had nothing to do with any humans that might be there, not even if they proved to be hedge witches. It was something much simpler and much more primitive.
It was as though the forest itself were aware of the events unfolding in the north, as though the snow and ice and storms cutting through Sunderland had brought that knowledge with them and the forest had stirred with that knowing, wishing to be awake to witness the unfolding of events. There was anticipation in the claw-like branches, a readiness that bordered on bloodthirstiness. The notable absence of animal life - even more pronounced than most winters before this - only heightened the sensation.
Or perhaps the gypsy was simply projecting her own inner turmoil onto the hapless trees and roots. She had certainly spent enough time in these past months agonizing over the battles to come. Perhaps what she really needed was a stress-free jaunt about the countryside, as though she did not get enough fresh air, traveling hither and thither all year round. Perhaps she ought to track down her band, then. How long since she had last seen them? She wondered how her mother fared...
Her maudlin thoughts were interrupted by Oberon, whose interest was caught by something too far away for her to see of hear. His sharp ears, however, has picked up a most unusual sound, which he sent to her mind, and he deemed worthy of investigating. As he set off, Rajani was left wondering why clockwork could possibly be in the middle of the forest.
