Haunted Wood whistlin' past the graveyard

Perhaps her role was as leader, now, but she felt anything but. She'd secluded herself, and the scent of blackfeather was light on her pelt, so often did she leave the territory. So often now, she felt as if she'd strayed from whatever path had been destined for her. She was a false queen, surely, and they hated her, she knew it. How could they not; the lowest among them turned Speaker? And how could she be leader, if she cared for none of them save the pups and Vaati?

The wind pushed cruelly through her pelt, stiff with ice. Her plunge into the creek had not been accidental, rather, the cold had her feel something besides aimlessness for a long moment. And now the cold burned like fire, burned until it didn't and she was numb again. Her head pounded, and not the pleasurable burn of the ice but instead the dull ache that had, perhaps, been caused by her plunge. Sighing, the girl stopped and haltingly stretched out in the snow, gaze blinking slowly as tiredness seemed to collapse upon her, blinking slowly as she peered up sideways at the stars, fire fading to a dull numbness.