Swiftcurrent Creek little puppet made of pine.

River was following a much different lead than her acquaintance -- a rumor, more or less, about the ailing herds of the taiga. She was eager to see them herself, not because she didn't think it was true, but because she saw it as an opportunity to learn. Her sheer morbid curiosity drew her here, from along the rime-licked edges of the lake, down to the rushing waters of the creek.

Chasing such frivolity was all she could do to keep her mind steady.

The churn of the tributary died down as she prowled further through the woods, and her senses became clearer, allowing her to notice that she was passing over the recent trail of someone familiar. This place was full of familiar things, it seemed, and River welcomed any distraction, any emotion, other than her despair.

When she saw the dark wolf ahead of her, she could not tell right away that it was Figment at a distance. She did not know him at the sight of his stalk, but it quickly became a series of images seared into her brain. After staring for a while and turning the scent over in her head, she remembered the boy and the bird.

She wanted to call out to him, but disturbing his focus seemed wrong. Instead, she turned her gaze to whatever lie beyond him, trying to discern what it was he so intently tracked.