Silver Creek moon dust in your lungs

The humid air stretched well into the inkling hours, though cooler now that the sun relinquished his reign to the moon. Still, a sticky, constricting moisture pushed through her windblown fur and seeped into her skin. Even the wind, while brisk in its rattling whispers, brought little relief. The air would clear once the rain broke from the towering thunderheads. The humidity served only as a warning of the tempest that soon would break.

For now, the ground remained dry. A creek pulsed through the twisting shadows, its presence marked only by the sound of steady piling. Much quieter than Otter Creek - and she wondered if the Ice Bear had moved on from there. Likely - for her legs had carried her many days, seven turns, when counted - and he had his own ventures to follow, as she had hers. And she had travelled farther and longer before; she did not tire yet. No longer bound by the daylight wolves of Easthollow, Nanook clung fervent to the night. How she had missed the host who had watched her from the heavens through her trials and peace, and she glanced up to her compass for nothing more than to see them again. Her direction didn't matter; she had no aim.

But still she noted, the light led her west.