The Grove wasn't quite as vibrant as she remembered it, but she'd attributed that to the dark gathering of clouds overhead. A snowstorm was coming. Hazel knew it would be wise to seek shelter, but she was far too busy reminiscing to care.
It was strange being back. The Lore, the Grove, they were still familiar to her, but in a distant sort of way. Like the bones were the same, the trees, the mountain, the rivers, and yet there were differences. She didn't know the scents that lingered here, didnt recognize the new growth and paths that had been carved out by whatever fauna had moved in.
Bittersweet nostalgia swept over her skin, flooding the woman's mind with a swath of blurred and broken memories. Hazel could no longer recall the soft lilt of her mother's voice, nor the smell of her fur. She couldn't quite remember the Backwater's scent, or even its exact location. Time had been quick to dull the sharp edges of her memory, worrying the corners until there was little left but feeling and a vague knowing that there had been something there; that something was missing, but not what it was.
Hazelnut cast another glance at the darkening sky. She really wanted to keep moving... but she could go for some water, and her legs were a bit tired. The woman was a wanderer at heart, an adventurer, even. Perhaps that's why her paws had carried her back after all this time, but even a wanderer needed to rest some time. Right? Right. So it was settled, then.