The Fool (joining)

It was quiet.  The sound of the wind passing through the grass of the Meadowlark Prairie was her only traveling companion. The rustle of the grass was subtle, like a whisper, but while most were deafened to the quiet details of the world, Darrah could hear. The finite details, they practically screamed in her windswept face: the echoes of the wind, the sudden drop in temperature, the churning overcast sky— they pointed towards death.

Winter approached.

She pointed her hazy, green eyes toward the sky and sighed. She squinted, but the clouds never came fully into focus.  It was only a matter of time before her senses began to betray her.  Another betrayal to add to the list, only this time, it was inevitable. Nature was a powerful force indeed.  The odds mounted against her favor.  The exile would soon be lost for the last time.  

Her days of self-sufficiency were drawing to a close, and Darrah resented herself for that.  No longer could she lead like days of old.  Eight long years of life had taken their toll, and Darrah's brittle legs had carried her as far as they could go. Finding a pack was her only chance of survival.  Luckily, her tired journey was drawing to a close.  Scent markers.  Summoning all the strength that she had, she called out with a howl to whoever would listen.