Bitterroot Valley you give out the glory of heaven, you give out the pain that is hell.

@Gleipnir please. <3

She knew not what the season meant to others. Only that it was cold and that warmth should be on the horizon. Although it seemed an impossible thought. The lands blanketed in moderate snowfall. She was a bloodstain upon them and somewhere in the area should be her ghost, her wardog. Hidden in the ivory with his own silver coat of winter. Blemished only by the scars of stories she could not imagine. Would not imagine.

Still she can find only softness in him, warmed by the presence of him. She wished to find him at that moment. Draw his familiar form near for safety and comfort. Even if she would never utter it aloud. Surely he must know like it is an instinct born into them. Wordless communication where boundaries laid.

She has found it proper to hunt him down. Find the freshest trail and stalk through the snow. She would take it along whatever lengthy or short path it might be, a flutter of her heart built up. It is the thrill of reunification, perhaps.

Whenever — wherever — she may find him, she made a choice on the urge of the boldness in her heart. Spring upon him. So that she may find herself near his haunches in her surprise arrival. Not once did she consider what wardog strength he might bring down upon her for an ambush.