The Tangle Clearly I don't see myself upon that list

After crossing over the glacier, Ceres struck due west. It took several days to work her way from morass to grotto to foothills and beyond. By the time she reached the tormented terrain of The Tangle, the Arctic she-wolf was beginning to feel her age in the steady ache of her limbs and the warm pulse of her paw pads. Even her back was sore.

Her pace was slowed considerably by the twisted earth in the region, but she wasn't sure whether to appreciate the reprieve or curse her luck. Every step was a tripping hazard. If she didn't tumble over a sharp stone, then she had to be cautious of placing her paw in a hole and fracturing her ankle. The going was tough, especially for an older wolf. The only redeeming quality was its proximity to the ocean. A cliff-side forest hid it from view, but she could smell it and if she strained her ears she could almost pick up on the louder crashes of waves.

Ceres had decided back on the glacier that she wanted to reach the sea before doing anything else. As she picked cautiously over the treacherous terrain, slow and steady but relatively safe on self-assured paws, she set her face in a determined grimace. She would get there.