Running was a therapy.
One that not only kept her brain juices flowing but also pumped every gram of anxiety out of her system. After having lost and won, Cara was growing used to the rollercoaster ride that was life; and despite the hatred she had once held towards the uncertain, she was beginning to learn that what life brough to her unexpectedly had equal chance of being a curse or a gift.
Ptarmigan for example had been the biggest curse that had fallen upon her, and the Spine as a whole in her opinion. It almost felt like the dark coated ursurper had been dropped intentionally into her life, to fill again that void that had been left when she had finally parted ways with her abusive sisters.
In a sense it was safe to say that what the yearling had deposited her faith on was the balance of good and bad --or in other words Karma. Though the chance of the legitimacy of this belief (like any other) was slim, it was the only thing dogma that was able to tie the loose ends in the female's mind.
So if Ptarmigan had been their poison, there was a chance that soon the Spine wolves would find a antidote.