Silver Moraine like a waterfall, my tears dropped to the floor, the floor

Though on the hunt herself, River wasn't particularly aware of her surroundings. She was mostly just going through the motions: look forward, sniff, look left, sniff, look right, sniff. She never looked back. It was all she could do to abstain from falling into a trap of introspection.

Don't think. Don't think. Don't think.

Had the wind been in her favor, she might have caught the deerstalker's approach, but he went unnoticed as she forged a path along the snow-dusted treeline. Eventually, her canter came to a halt, and she paused over a set of hoofprints that traveled from the plains into the moraine's forest. It was alone, and she knew from the scent that it was a bull elk. She could smell no illness there, as she had expected, but she followed its trail anyway, eager for the distraction.

When it came into view, River balked at the size of its antlers and hesitated to proceed. There was nothing sick about this ungulate. And if she wanted to take it down, she would be in for a long night.