Bearclaw Valley rolling in and caught again

they came to a stream, yet merrick did not ford it.

delayed, astara lingered behind with her gaze roving the banks. they were rimed in thin sheets of ice -- the surface translucent and brittle along the stream's edge. astara dared not nimbly leap across: the gurgle of the rushwater told her the thin bridge of ice above it was but a veil -- she would no sooner waltz across its surface as if it were water.

a shared look to merrick, and she knew he thought the same.

she shrugged, nosed along the frozen reeds, and headed upstream for better vantage.