...followed in the wake of descent. If one with a kind eye could call the rush of tan hide such a thing upon the mountain. Humble as the wanderer perceived herself to be, for her gait upon mountainous terrain, there was pride; as she believed her steps were on par with those of the deer gallivanting across the open fields. Her paws were but whispers on the steppes of the peaks with hardly a stone bothered by the weight of her bodice to the earth. Her dance was practiced, well rehearsed from her time upon her own Sunspire, and always did the bound bring a gentle smile to her face. Though with all sense of pride, there was a humbling blow.

The slopes were not those of her Sunspire, more jagged and unrelenting as she attempted her descent. Each step was heavy giving way to frigid rock to fall from the graces of her peaks in graceless exhibition, nearly scrambling several times to maintain her balance. Even her tail was a useless rudder to keep her aloft, its wild swaying doing nothing to hold her in place. Had an eye been watching, she must have looked like a yearling attempting to stand for the first time; all unbalanced with legs flailing until inevitably she skid the remainder to the base of the mountain. And her pride did suffer as she took her first relieved breath of the new air. Her heart hammered madly until she could stand it no longer, and collapsed into rugged heap upon sandy shores.

Oh yes... it was here. These gentle turning waters and soft beckoning shores. The worth of her tumble come from what her eyes could behold. The very life that thrived beneath the prison of fine ice. And the view itself... nestled within the frigid bosom of the mountain. No... certainly, there was no finer view than this.

Peace was hers if only for a moment, at a time when she could rest her weathered paws. The tumbled had opened the blisters of her travel, but not so much as to warrant the immediate attention of a healing tongue. Instead, she would let the cooling touch of the snow numb the pain to naught as well as her mind til her ears were distracted.

Looking up from the ice, she spied the miniature form of a lupine female. Spry, indeed. If not light on her delicate paws as well. Though it was not her ability which drew the female's attention. More so the size of the fox colored girl. She was small... terribly small. Had the scent of age not accompanied her, the wanderer would have thought the petite thing was still a pup. "Indeed..." the she-wolf replied quietly then let her muzzle rest on the length of an outstretched leg. "Though not all can make a meal of the little ones as us big ones..." she countered softly with just the faintest hint of mirth in her voice.

In her time among short tempers and the wild will of the young, a valuable practiced had been learned by the wanderer. While patience was her forfeit, tolerance was how she breathed; inhaling the quips and eager taunts of those bearing ill, then exhaling a breath of calm. If not to soothe them, then herself.

Smiling softly, she female let her muzzle tilt to the side exposing a worn cheek to the bitter cold as it drifted quietly passed. "I would not dream of it..." her tongue flickered from its cage to roam the width of her nose. "What sense is there to have use both cross the river?" Her should twitched idly against the wind. "These days are short to bring them a close that much sooner..."

The youth's lackluster reply gave reason for the female to respect the eloquent tongue all the more; it offered something more than the confused reply. At least there was a parry of words even shortly, as there had been with the dark, scarred male.

Groaning softly as she shifted wearily to her belly, she raised her bi-colored eyes to look upon the young female again. Her fragile smile never waning. "I would not dream of starting a fight with you..." she began just as softly. "...because there is no reason to send to you to the afterlife when your life is barely lived."

The goading of the female now somewhat lessened, the wanderer felt boldly inclined to return her large head to her paws. Shifting slightly that her side might feel the warmth of the sun, she looked contentedly to the young female. Her countenance that of a comfortable female.

"Because I am not worth the presence of entitled rulers," she replied softly without missing her mark to rebuttal. "...and the earth is more civil, more appreciative to the silence of wanderers." From her lying position, she craned her neck back slightly to gain a better look at her fox hued audience. Oddly enough, she found it amusing, as if she were entertaining a pup.

"And what of you?" her nose quivered an inquisitive dance. "You are not a wanderer of the earth, but a wolf of the pack. Why have you chosen?...or were you born into their ranks?"

OOC: xD No worries at all!

Death was an inevitability that came to all in one form or another. The determinant being how one's actions dictated how quickly it came and in what manner. For the wanderer, she believed her time would come when it was due and had accepted the consequences when departing from the mountains. Days without food... longer still without water. Hard were the days under winters rule, but rather she die frigid under sheets of snow than in the care of those that ignored and despised her. She believed there was dignity in death in the wild, rather than withering away on a soft, warm bed.

A stubborn fool indeed.

At least she maintained some semblance of reason, deciding only to endure the indignities of a pack life should the need for sustenance become dire. Long had she teetered upon the thresh, yet to topple. Though she was not ignorant to Fate's way to coax a changing wind.

As the young female departed, the wanderer remained where she lay though shifted more so to her back to let the sun warm her belly. Brittle ribs indented the deflated rolls of creme fur, sinking inward toward the cage to brush against soft organs. She could feel the warmth of the sun filtering though as much as she could feel the grate of her ribs against her hide. Oh, she was withering. Each day without food was another day toward death; an added ingredient to further complete the ill-borne recipe. Her tongue rasped her lips as she craned her neck toward the lake, the thin ice beckoning her close with the taunting life that swam beneath its surface. Sighing softly, she rolled to her paws to stand then walked gingerly over to the water's edge.

Perhaps a fish would turn her odds a little away from death...