Whitewater Gorge deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked

The stranger had eluded him and while that bothered him some, it did not stop him from continuing with his life. There had been other Titanias; given enough time he would find more, and do as nature dictated. As the wolf meandered through the valley he was careful but not afraid, cautious but bold in equal measure. The forests of this region granted him many clues in regard to those who called it home and he was hopeful - no, expectant - that his luck would change for the better.

As he had before, Ailithir left gifts for the people of the hills and the trees each time he was blessed with a meal. He scored the earth and let a fresh hare stagnate within the trough, smelling the thickness of the blood on the air as it pooled. Unbeknownst to himself the wolf had stained part of a paw with red and the snow gave way to his path; by the time he reached the edge of the massive gorge he had trailed a path of blood more than half the way.

The beast loomed over the cascading crevice without a thought to his own safety. If the fates were on the side of the natives, perhaps a strong wind would carry him to the depths - but the only gust he felt brought a flurry of fresh snow which, tousling his thick coat, merely added more salt to his already silvered spine.