Bramblepoint Winter nip

Tosca proceeded West day after day, chasing the setting sun after having set a course for the lands where the stars they loved the most barely rose over the horizon. Steady was their pace, as if set by a faithful breeze, hastened only when the opportunity to hunt urged a sporting lope. Mountain ranges rose in the distance, and grew larger every day, shrinking only when the pale wolf crested the foothills. Down again into a valley, and into a place where the shrubs grew thick; an excellent place to stop and hunt for rabbits. 

Tosca was not the only one searching, however; and the scent of another wolf came on the breeze that softly wafted through the labyrinth of berry bushes, now brown and dry for the winter. While the stars provided enough information for latitude and longitude, the next challenge would be honing their search; this could be done by word of mouth. 

They had never shied away from greeting others, and now it seemed their task to seek them out. Thus far, their query had yielded no results though as they approached the mountain range, they suspected that might change. They switched their objective from hunting rabbit to searching for the other wolf, tracing her scent on the wind and following it once they found her path.