Alpine Lake And then walk until our feet are torn

WC: 465
@Rosencrantz

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By the time Niamh reached the borders, the wind had already picked up, screaming inland from the coast and bringing with it a deep chill that sent the falling snow sideways. It was cold enough that the flakes were tiny, and more like stinging crystals of ice, and with the wind getting stronger and stronger throughout the day, tracking was made even more difficult. The blowing snow would quickly cover any tracks Niamh left behind, leaving her in despair- as it meant that it would be all the more difficult for her to find her brother’s footprints if he was close enough to leave any behind. Still, she had promised herself that while she would not undertake any journeys that took her longer than a day and a half (as she had already tracked around the pack a day in almost every direction, now) so she could only go so far, and had still found no sign of Ambrose.

She headed North, back to the scene of the crime- the blood-covered patch of ground that had been strewn with bits of black hair (Ambrose’s, no doubt) and tawny (those belonging to the cougar). She hated to see the clawmarks in the ground fade away, and to see that the blood that had been shed had now blended in completely with the dead leaves that had fallen in the ground both before and after the fight. To any passer-by, the area would have possibly been identified as a zone where a wolf had perhaps made a kill some time ago, but only if one were looking for the signs. Otherwise, a wolf wandering through without their nose to the ground wouldn’t have been able to pick anything up at all- as though it had never happened.

But for Niamh, the pain was still immensely fresh, and it grew with each day that she was forced to rein in her searches and keep herself from simply going out and looking for her brother for several days at a time. No- she had to remain bound to the pack...Though as a leader, she knew it was a responsibility she could not shirk. Her search, this time, led her just a bit further to the North from where Ambrose had been attacked on the Northern edge of the Grouse Thicket. She scaled the rocky slope until she came to a lake, a fresh blue in colour, that likely fed the rivers and streams that surrounded the plateau where she lived. The water was clear and fresh, so she stopped for a drink before she began to meander her way along the shore, nose down and searching for any signs that Ambrose had come this way, doing her best to ignore the whipping wind that slashed at her back.

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