Whitewater Gorge we have no evidence it wasn't

His quip only earned a thin-lipped glance from over the crude spire of her shoulder; and then, without warning, veered away and low, darting to one of the little crevices of water-limned crag. Her first quarry, her warden  (of sorts?)  would find, was the so-named bloodwort — “Bloodroot,” Aure quietly amended, cursing herself — turning to her for-now-pupil with a pale-petaled sprig cinched carefully between her foremost fangs.
She only let herself linger for a moment-and-half, so he may gaze upon her finding and mark it down into the tome of his own recesses. 

And then she was flitting away once more; only in short pulses, of course, but nonetheless never a she-wolf to tarry about. Once she’d sought “Stonecrop”  (nudging absently at the blushed, flowering succulents)  and “Ironweed”  (likewise with the purpling, minute fronds)  and demonstrating them in much the same manner, it was then, and only then, that the greenseer decided it was finally time to return to level lands.

And though the ascent was much more quieter and less harried than their initial departure, Aurëwen continued to keep the remnants of all that she felt to her own person. She needn’t lie her trails upon another yet again; there was the kind-faced Speedy and the stolid Ira for that, she thinks. And even then, she... couldn’t be sure whether their presences were a balm-to-be or no.

With a thin sigh, the critical hind regarded Kalganov once more — presumably, for the last time. Her tongue was leaden with such reluctance, but her words were just as adamant towards her as she was to all around her: “Should you need to find me for more study, I reside within ze riverlands of Kaisteloki... for now. It is northerly, and by ze deer-plateau.” An inscrutable blink. “Do you have any more questions?”