Frostfire Ridge mine is a watery pit

A FR wolf maybe?

A fruitful summer was upon the taiga, but not even the sweet grass or rich prey offered reprieve to the troubled ember as she trekked across the north. No matter how many miles Tuwawi put between herself and the glacier, the weight of deep guilt crushed the Sveijarn. Eventually, she had no choice but to circle South towards Teekon, empty handed and still burdened by her failures. After the lynx had raided Duskfire's den, the red queen doubted life could be any worse... but things had quickly snowballed into a cataclysmic end of her pack. There was nothing to her name, now; not her children, who were most certainly dead, her estranged mate, or even Tartok. 

The life of a lone wolf was hard, even in the best seasons, and she prowled familiar lands for food. Yet, to her surprise, fresh scents marked the ridge. With the sun dipping into a late afternoon, she doubted her ability to traverse the ridge before nightfall, or if it was even wise to cross these lands at all.