Morningside Cuesta [m] vieja

faintly silvertongue knew where she was, the courseways between taiga and rising sun. the valley she knew as much as any part of her; if she could get there, she could disappear where riverclan had once stood, or run to kvarsheim, or flee to swiftcurrent — a small, soft grin unspooled when the man leant close, and then she bit for him as harshly as she was able. only when his flesh gave did she leap aside, whirling toward the valley in a headlong run that cost her every bit of collected energy. he would be behind her. silvertongue only prayed she could remain five steps ahead until she found terrain more familiar.