Silvertip Mountain The panic of your dreams keeps you awake

Niita had chosen a rock for her bed. It was a flat outstretched rock that ascended upwards into part of the mountain, creating a sort of corner that she put her back to and slept. The pale waif had no reason for a den, she no longer slept enough to need one. 

Her dreams were haunted by memories, haunted by the dead. It was one such dream that woke her-the sight of Lifa's crumpled tiny form had her lurching upwards with a yelp. Several moments of panting fear later, Niita shook her head and got to her feet.

She found herself leaning against a bare tree, its skinny branches scraping lightly in the breeze. The stars winked at her from above, the arctic wolf stared up at them and pondered if her family was up there as she had been taught as a child.