Colette had spent so little of her childhood on her father’s estate that it hardly felt like home. Trees that she had thought she’d remembered were strangely absent, and the shimmering creeks had rerouted or completely dried up. She blamed much of it on the imperfect memory of a young child, twisted and warped by time and imagination.
The cause of some of this change of landscape though, was obvious in the deep muddy furrows left behind where flowering hedges once flourished. Hogs the size of horses, some terrifying amalgamation of nature magic and feral pig, had been slowly encroaching on the sizeable territory. Frowning, one hand went to her hip only to find it empty. Perhaps it wasn’t so smart for her to travel the grounds unarmed.
A grating call echoed down from the sky, feathers of white and shades of golden brown catching the sunlight as the large corva circled lazily down to land. Colette watched as it choosily flew past the huge furrows of mud, backwinging wit