It was like hitting a wall. Kipling continued to press into the wilds, but only got so far before she found herself climbing up the slopes of mountains. So she backtracked attempting to find some break or tunnel that she could cross through. The mountains were intimidating to an inexperienced traveler such as herself, though she wondered constantly what she would find on the other side. Tilting her muzzle upwards to squint at the peaks in the distance, she slumped back onto her bum.
She still had time to figure it out, that's how she reassured herself. The land here was still rich with resources. Though the meadow did lack shelter, a lesson she'd been taught by the rolling thunderstorm that had passed the night before. Kipling sent out a memo to herself: try to scrap out a den if you're not passing through the mountains anytime soon. But not the creepy forest to the south, try to steer clear of that place.
What she first thought was a shiver at the memory turned out to be a grumble from her stomach. She'd eaten some berries that morning, but the need to hunt was still present and would not be shaken. Not that hunting was impossible for her to accomplish, but it was like winning the lottery in the way that luck wasn't always in her favor. Still, with the noon sun high and an overcast wave casting a cool shade over the meadow, she set out to pull a lucky ticket, swinging her nose to the ground.