Silver Moraine picture i'm a dreamer, i'll take you deeper

after standing around and debating herself, athalia continues her trek for about another quarter mile before the exhaustion burning her legs prevents her from going any further. her muscles were now certainly formidable, honed in the way a primitive life could provide; but this terrain was rugged and steep. it's somehow still freezing in the middle of summer. there are so many mosquitos that her vision almost seems blurry.
this was miserable.
saliva clings to her lower jaw as she settles down for a rest, eager to get the pressure off of her feet for a time. she'd been so ready for it, until —
sobeille, the scent is unmistakable, memory immediately flooding her and overtaking her with some nameless, undecipherable urge. now that she was within her grasp, she grew apprehensive. what was she going to say? why had she done this in the first place?
why did she like the way her pulse roared so angrily against her bones?
her head raises, gaze focused intently on the slope of the moraine as if sobeille would magically appear in front of her at any moment.