Whitefish River pixels

She set off, alone, desperate to find her daughter. There was no scent trails for her to follow, no information or leads. She simply went. Clouded by sadness and fear and hatred at herself, she simply went. Potema keened often, calling for Koume loudly, softly, speaking Daedric and Common. She wondered to herself if she would go mad over this, the disappearance of her eldest. She knew she couldn't do that to herself, that jealous act of slipping into Sheogorath's clutches, leaving the rest of her children unprotected in Blackfeather, the histories and traditions that her mother had passed to her lost. She knew she had to keep it together for their sake, for all of their sakes. 

She trailed the flatlands, searching for any sign of Koume. But she knew she could not run without food or without water, especailly not water, not in the throbbing heat of the sun bearing above. Potema drew herself to the Whitefish River that fed the Greatwater Lake, lapping at the cool waters, relishing in the contrast from the heat that pounded on her back.