Bearclaw Valley we rush the west in silence

Nanook stood a statue, with a tight stare transfixed upon the gate of boulders that marked the Valley's start. Icy claws seared upon her reason. Forget and don't slow down. Run and keep running, as she had always done. The wind played against her, to push her away, but the sweetness they carried sang of her mother - when they had watched the clouds together - and her breath choked. Her copper eyes burned with the heat of withheld tears and the only fire she had left, and, with the white ghost ablaze in her mind, she plunged forward, and felt the forest consumed her.

Branches snapped against her face, and she scrabbled against the uneven terrain. Pebbles cracked into her paws, and she bit her tongue, but kept pushing, pushing forward. Alone and confronted with the memories of travelling this path reared a storm within her breast. Her throat tightened with anxiety and stress, and her senses blurred from the thoughts of what this place once meant to her, but she knew if she slowed she would never chart this course again.

And that was something she could not afford.