Hushed Willows saihs

@Reverie let me know if this doesn't fit your timeline; backdated to ??? whatever works.

There was a passage along the mountainside which might have been too narrow for a wolf, but was adequate for something like a dog to traverse. It was harrowing from time to time, with sudden sharp turns and steep views, especially when climbing headfirst down through the pines. Thankfully Edith was low-bodied enough, and graced with the sloped hindquarters oft found in her breed, keeping her from standing too tall in moments she needed to hug the curve.

When the land leveled out again, it was at an odd angle. She had to scramble to an adjacent ledge, then cut across exposed roots which gripped the hillside like a knot of fingers. From there she caught her breath, panting heavily, and tried to reorient herself; but this place looked utterly alien to the dog, who until now was accustomed to pinewood, exposed stone, and fern bed.

Here, the trees were tall enough to stoop. They carried tendrils of whip-like, tangled growths. Maybe at some point in the year they'd be beautiful — but not with winter coming. There were no leaves on the trees, no flowers, and nothing in the scent to indicate life. This was only the beginning of winter; to Edith who had never experienced anything like this, it looked and felt like something long ruined.

She began to stalk among the trees, wary, and careful. There was a subtle sound here which she could not put a name to — but it was the wind sighing through those hanging heads, and nothing more.