Permafrost Hollows end of the journey; first of the trials

the faintest ghost of a smile perches upon blackened lips, the act putting a strange pressure on her face as if grief had weighed the muscles down to the point of being able to muster none else but a wearied frown. scattered fragments of distant memories tumbled across her vision; from babbling fervently about each and every critter and plant she came about, to protecting little bird families from the prying eyes of other wolves and refusing quite pointedly to partake in any hunt, dismayed that their speciecs lived off of the hurt and death of others. such bright flashes, most accompanied by the buzz of lazy summer days and the distant giggle of the creek. the stony exterior of her features cracks, sapped despondency writhing about dull eyes but she keeps that wavering smile; keeps it focused on the leering flower. 

she is just a child. she wants to crawl under the protective wing of a parental figure and weep for she is not...she is not ready to grow up and face death with unflinching acceptance. but in this situation right now she can not be the child, not the type she wishes to be. to embrace innocent selfishness and focus on her own screaming needs. slowly, she breathes, and smiles. they are like lead but quietly, her paws skim the earth to finally come closer to the shadow and his flower. 

standing there, the dove and the blackbird, both blinking at the defiant spark of life before them. unknowingly sharing the blood of the very soul who's departure had brought them together. 

she knows that water makes flowers grow but when she murmurs, that is not what she says "i had no clue, thank you for telling me that you're..very smart" breathless, as if speaking those light toned words were as exerting as racing across the territories. 

a blink at quietly recalled descriptions, a sudden shiver gripping ahold of her as vigilance spikes viciously through that gloomy cloud. things slowly slot together. it couldn't be, could it? the thud of her heart grows rapid, the shudder crawling up her limbs is relentless as she fixates on the glossy darkness. his parents were asleep, his papa the giver of that night cloak adorning him, the nearest pack she could catch scent of being whitebark stream...papa he'd....he...new family.

her limbs buckled into a rough sit, sides heaving as wild eyes cast on the boy. it had to be a coincidence this couldn't...but, but it could! she wanted to scream, find a way into his little brain and see from those eyes since he could not, could not confirm what she needed to know. "tell me...do you remember the name of your pack? did it have...a stream? was it near here?" don't bombard him with questions, she had to be careful..too many questions would overwhelm him and steal a shot at an answer but it was so hard when her mind clamoured and roared. why was he out here? she'd ask of course, but not yet, she had to find out if she was related to this other bird; if their feathers were gifted from the same wolf.