Whitefish River there's an old man sitting on the throne

@Bane

 

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paws took her aimless places, now. she drifted like a wraith from place to place, the life of a loner easy in the sumer, and still making its mark on her frame, which was lean and powerful from the constant toil that was her life. and yet, if Vengeance had taught her anything, it was that she was better alone than bending to rules that attempted to constrain her. thus, she was content, if not aimless. aimless was something she was not pleased to be, something she had never really been. thought, she supposed, she would always aim to survive. 

she stood now with her forepaws in the river, mountains to her left, close and looming. her gaze took in the landscape, beautiful as it was, with a kind of aloof distance. finding no immediate thing of interest in her surrounds, she bent her muzzle to drink, sating her thirst quickly and smoothly, gaze set on what was before her the whole time.