Hushed Willows Pam, please. . .I have Country Crock.

Hansel and Gretel left bread crumbs. Lilitu left little scarlet droplets of blood in her wake, hobbling along on three weary paws. 

Her first alpine adventure had been disastrous. She'd ascended the foothills of the valley, intending to get back by dark. By the time she reached the crags, she was utterly lost, and night had fallen. She had no semblance of direction and no skill for navigation. When dawn broke, the girl forged on — going the wrong way. On her descent, Lilitu had dashed her left forepaw against a jagged rock, ripping the pad open. 

She was hungry, tired, and scared. And ouchy. She approached the forest, whimpering. Upon first sight of the willows, however, she froze, falling silent.

I've been here before.

It was a preposterous thought. She'd never left the valley. But seeing this place gave her the same feeling as when she had viewed her mother's face for the first time. Sudden familiarity. A dance of little icy feet up and down her spine. 

Shivering, she reclined back on her haunches just outside the edge of the trees and examined her injured paw. Ooh. That was gnarly. Kind of stunk, too. And God, it hurt!!

Lilitu didn't know what freaked her out more — the inexplicable knowledge of this forest, or the gash that was beginning to fester.