Whitefish River the world's a beast of a burden

she steps out into a clearing, and the rain falls uninterrupted on her pelt. the grasses here are bent and bowed, and lingering scents, musky and sweet, tell of the deer that would have passed through here. small piles of scat, and draped delicately over a stunted branch, a thin strand of velvet. her brow creases at that, about to step forward and investigate.

"evergreen." she turns, recognizing the voice and scent easily. it was Ira that had first brought those memories to the surface, and they'd lingered there. she does not smile and her tail moves only barely, but her expression softens. "are you well?" so different than the wolf she'd seen last, though the scars are plenty and evident.