This was it. She could feel it in her bones, see it in all the stories she'd heard. This was the place her mother was born; The place her grandmother ruled. Drooping Willows. Even in the dead of winter it was beautiful. The willows were large, and imposing, with their crystalline branches reaching down towards the Earth. It was a fairy-tale come to life, except she had always known it was real. If that were the case... then certainly there were Archer's around? Her aunt Ravenna, her uncle Skoll, her cousin Sven?
Nellie had already heard the tales of the place, but now it was time to find out for herself whether any of them were embellished or not. Pale eyes scanned the horizons as she moved, searching for landmarks. She was, of course, careful to stray far enough from the borders that her presence would not raise any hackles. The land beyond their scent markers did not belong to them.