Greatwater Lake belongs to the sand

@Rowan (side note: this is majorly forward-dated due to the current BWP, and is set for about eh, 01/30/2021)

Though the storm had trapped Angakkoq upon the archipelago for the last turn of the moon, the medicine woman was quick to take up her wandering again once it (finally) broke. The island was swept with frigid winds, like sharp fingers raking over the land or as if the inua cackled with breaths of ice overhead. It was not a place she desired to reside in for long -- especially when the typically lush rainforest proved to be half-frozen and decimated by the harsh gales. 

From there the shepherd continued west along the coast, turning away at the land bridge stretching towards another distant isle (as it was scented heavily with many trails) to follow along the icy river. It had led her through a land of withered steppes -- their thin grasses tipped with casings of ice that glittered in the light like quartz. 

Somewhere near the river's end, the waters pooled into a vast loch -- which Imaq thought small only because of her familiarity with the sea. Truly, it was a lake of impressive proportions, just not to the golden northron.

[size=14px%%%]The buttercream shepherd glided over the pebbled shores with soft clatters accompanying each step, fluffy pelt snagged and tugged by the disgruntled breeze. She paused at the edge of the waters, navy and inky to the point of becoming atramentous, to slake her thirst and cast a calculating seaglass gaze across the immense pond. 

It was clear to the Waterwitch that the great lake was not frozen over, not by half, and would be impossible to cross. 

It would take longer to skirt around its edges but the shaman did not mind so much, her jade gaze flitting about curiously like the rapid wings of a hummingbird as she drank in her surroundings with a keen eye. The lands, even in the midst of winter following a blizzard, were so exotic compared to her own that they seemed artificial, surreal, to her northern eyes -- like the makings of her mothers' fantastical stories, whispered on long winter nights while they curled 'round the den.[/size]