Sleepy Fox Hollow By thee, old Capulet, and Montague

The sea had given her nothing. The Ravensblood wolves had been civil but cool, Varick was gone, and all others had vanished. With a final, disdainful look at the water, Snowe departed, heading inland for the first time--or so it seemed--in her life.

She found the mountains she had left and traveled southeast in their shadow, her black form moving stealthily through the trees. Though the scars would remain, her fur had mostly grown back to normal, and she was strong once more--she looked outlandish no longer. She gazed upon the crag she had descended from for a short moment, then moved on, continuing to move through the valley.

Days went by, and Snowe began to ascend the range, traveling higher and higher, over bluffs and through canyons. She scarcely stopped to rest or eat; it was as if her legs could not stop moving, carrying her far away from the ocean. She barely even breathed until the sound and smell of the sea had finally left her.

Finally, she came up a ridge and found herself staring into a small circular valley below. And she wasn't alone. A mottled brown wolf was playing in some leaves near the edge of the bowl.

Twitching her ear in some amusement, Snowe began to pick her way down, giving a short bark to the she-wolf to warn her she was coming.