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Ragnelle cannot fix or aid her husband or any of her brothers-in-law; her children aren't here, and the woods keep calling her.
So she's given in, at least, to that last, and is walking among the ash trees, eyes closed, making her way by moving her hands from trunk and branch to limb and leaf, her hair in disarray around her shoulders, her skirt muddied and a bit frayed.
It always leaves her calmer.
So she's given in, at least, to that last, and is walking among the ash trees, eyes closed, making her way by moving her hands from trunk and branch to limb and leaf, her hair in disarray around her shoulders, her skirt muddied and a bit frayed.
It always leaves her calmer.