Northstar Vale you and me and the devil makes three

Dated for the evening of February 4, 2017.

Nothing mattered but the wild churn of her blood as it coursed, hot and heady, through her veins.

Lotte emerged from the hot springs and broke east, her matte fur damp and smelling so potently of sulfur that even she had to wrinkle her nose at it. Weirdly enough, it was almost a relief to smell something other than smoke and ash — but when she was presented with an oasis of evergreens, she wasted no time in weaving herself between them until the last of the rotten egg scent had been scrubbed away. It seemed only the strongest of smells broke through her desensitized state: she couldn’t really appreciate the scent of the trees themselves; she simply guessed when the terrible eye-watering smell dissipated that she’d achieved her goal. She felt a strange pull toward the unfamiliar vale, and whether that was because of some subconscious connection to Dagfinn or an unfulfilled desire to explore and climb mountains, she couldn’t rightly say.

Frozen carcasses dotted the unclaimed territory, untouched, but it was evident to the aspiring scout that a pack had lived here once. In her travels she’d discovered several things: Silvertip Mountain — Day’s mountain — had been similarly vacated. There was a pack located about a day’s travel away from Teaghlaigh that, though it did not appear to pose a threat, boasted stronger numbers and a generous handful of young wolves. These were things she would be sure to mention to Arturo upon her return —

— oh! —

The mere thought of her suitor brought to mind their tryst in the weald south of Donnelaith, and she turned her head distractedly west as a pining whine tangled in her throat. Breathing a little easier after her impromptu nebulization treatment, the nightingale turned indecisively in a circle. The need that drummed restlessly through her blood was maddening, but the moon had already risen and it wasn’t likely she’d get home before morning. The sweet ambrosia that unwittingly spiced the air around her drifted southwest on a wandering wind as she turned her attention to a nearby carcass and set about satisfying her hunger. That was what she wanted — had to be. She tore into the partially frozen flesh with more ferocity than was required, spoiling for a fight and not altogether sure what for. You are clean and fed; you can walk; you can breathe; you are alive, she reminded herself tartly — and wondered why there was still such a lingering sense of dissatisfaction — of emptiness. Her thoughts wandered again to Arturo, and she rumbled discontentedly.