Fox's Glade So near, so far or in between

The scent of something clean rode on the wind, guiding Feyre towards the promise of a bath. Fresh water was a rarity in her travels, and the fae's once flaxen pelt was matted with the mud and dirt of the constantly melting and freezing mud. As a woman with pride in her heart, her marred appearence shattered what was left of her mind. Traveling without communicating had costed her her inner voice, instead she merely relied on instinct to lead her across the continent. Every so often, thoughts would streamline through her concience, reminding her of her state of living, but at least she had yet to turn to talking outloud to herself. 

As one mud laden mitt sank into the frozen mire, the bubbling liquid of the creek trembled past her petite paws. The water's edge encouraged her to peer down at herself, to be disgusted by her own appearance, but instead she turned her gaze to the silverline moon dancing with the water. Her foreleg reached out, skimming the top of the stream with her paw and distorting the midnight sun. With a burst of energy, the fae threw herself onto her back in the velvety liquid, rolling around in the water until the liquid turned from the black color of dirt back to the white of the moon's reflection. 

It was only when she stood that she caught the scent of life nearby. It was something she relied upon during her travels, the ease of finding preditors and prey. The scent was distinctly feminine, and distinctly lupine. For a second, she merely stood as the water parted around her, then it was as if that lost piece of her clicked into place. She bounded to the shoreline, shaking the brisk droplets from her pelage as she called out to the fae further downstream, "Hello?". Perhaps it was intrusive, but what was she supposed to say? Loneliness was a terrible thing for a packborn creature.