Meadowlark Prairie whatever's lost cannot be found

She didn't know where she was going, nor did she care about the fact that she did not know. It didn't matter, did it, because she could take care of herself. she was young, and blind to much of the world around her, and thus she could take on anything. So it didn't concern her when she found herself at the edge of an unfamiliar plane, and only the sight of a looming wood in the distance. She paused, squinting at the distance, the darkness that made this forest different from the one behind her. It was this curious wood that had her continue forward, wondering at whatever might play between those boughs. 

The sun began to beat down on her, white-speckled fur seeming to soak in the heat. It was the type of warmth that leached the strength from your limbs, made one listless, unmotivated. The day for out of place for late summer, but the heat came all the same. Cassiopeia did not stop, however, for that would entail weakness, and if she was anything, it was not a quitter. 

Midday, however, found her parched, and the wood seeming no closer than before. She cast about for water, tongue lolling and ears roving atop her head, searching, intent, on finding the gentle whispering of a steam, of the thunderous crashing of a river, but finding nothing but the heavy stillness of the heat-soaked day.