Sunspire Mountains she slipped the lock, and changed her dress

the horizon spilled onto trees where amber turned to periwinkle, promising another rainless, midsummer night. the rufescent wolf crested the scarped bluff and took stock of the wilderness she would journey over in the coming days, regarding the alpenglow of the spire. esmé hedged a sigh into the evening air. hundreds of miles behind her, hundreds of miles vanward, hundreds stood astride her. 

she traveled by nightfall and cleaved to shadow or covert by the daylight hour, but for the time being departed early in the evening to navigate by the direction of the sunset. 

presently, she sought a tributary from which she could quench her thirst, then follow downstream until its towpath led to thicker trees. rivers were the roads of the forest, this she knew and held fast to. shaking out her ruff, esmé carried on her way in a gamely trot, meandering to lower elevations until her effort was rewarded when a jewel-blue stream carved out of her path.

eagerly she drank, with a stature like a falcate—springtrap and self-possessive. the surplus of water was laden on her stomach, but her focus was keen on her surroundings lest the cruor of her body attract unwanted visitors.