Sawtooth Spire I can't get you out from under my veins

Her eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds and yet Quellcrist pressed on to the south, determined to find a deer before she let herself sleep. She loped all night long, wending back toward the river, relieved when Frolic slipped off her shoulder and went for an icy swim. Q passed a lake—the one Mal had mentioned?—and began veering toward the nearby foothills without even realizing it. The rising sun cast a huge shadow over a neighboring creek, where a telling ache in her temple finally brought her to a stop.

She wasn't in the least surprised when a familiar head popped up in the nearby creek. Frolic had probably gotten here hours ago, having swum the waterways. If Quell had known this one's name, she would've laughed. But she was now very weary and only sighed as she dropped to her haunches, then slid forward onto her belly. Before her head could hit the ground, a pillow presented itself in the form of her furry friend and Q offered a weak protest of, "But you're so moist," before falling fast asleep.

When she woke some time later, she gauged it to be mid-morning, maybe a little later. Her head no longer ached, thankfully. She saw Frolic fishing in the nearby creek and smirked, padding over to snatch one of the half a dozen overgrown minnows piled on the bank beside him. In retaliation, the otter spun with his latest catch still in his claws and slapped her snout with it, prompting Q to laugh heartily and spring backward.

She left him there for now and meandered toward the nearby mountain, drawing in several deep breaths that flared her nostrils. It sort of smelled like a pack lived here, yet the scents were nowhere near as powerful as Neverwinter's. Perhaps it was a newer claim? Quell didn't think much of it as she raised her muzzle and howled.