Qeya River it's a narrow neck of land

Cautiously, as if the ground might move from underneath her at any moment, Emaleth once more collected herself to her feet. She was miserable, through and through— it seemed to the yearling that famine had struck the earth once more, that locusts had come to steal all that was green from her. She knew some things of winter, for it had been part of her education to know the four seasons, but listening to stories was entirely different from experiencing it herself.

Unwilling to stay on the ice any longer, the dark witch didn't answer and instead hazarded a leap to the shore— her hind legs, of course, had no purchase on the slippery surface. It was not the most elegant of movements, but she made her target in a large pouf of snow just as the ice she had been standing upon broke away to be carried downriver by the sluggish, unfrozen center of the waterway. It made a rending noise behind her, and the she-wolf's mismatched gaze moved to determine the other's wellbeing before tending to her own prone position.