Moonsong Glacier my fingers laced to crown,

If there was one thing she’d conquered, it was ice-fields. Glaciers. Ears pressed slick against her skull, a low, harsh growl leaving her; as her eyes alit on various, slight openings; one caught her sight, one that seemed generous enough for wolves, and unforgiving for anything greater. She had to try, and hope the entrance was a hollow—and for whoever this male was.

“Here!” She panted from over a wispy ruff and thin shoulder. Gathering what little of her flagging strength she had left, she scrabbled up frost-crusted boulders and frozen crags; and then flickered through the crevasse, out of sight.

But she couldn’t help the sharp yelp that skipped from her—ice at her ribs, falling through air, and then she was tumbling upon snowy silt and earth’s gravel. She sprang to her paws, whipping her head to see if the gilded male followed, breathing hard.