Whitebark Stream food nor memory

The sun had risen as it did every other day, the rivers flowed with their relentless force, and the trees were all exactly as they were when Adanya had gone to bed the night before, but something about everything felt the slightest bit wrong. Perhaps the clouds lingered over the beaming sun for too long, casting an eerie gloom into the wood – the sure signs of a storm to come? She shook her head, as if scolding an unruly pup, halting her steps over frozen earth just long enough to sniff the air. No, it wasn't that, the scent of rain or snow was nowhere to be found, and the birds that remained in winter's chill sang all too pretty songs.

The slightest bit discouraged, she continued on her path through the maze of birch following the stream, hopping over the many larger sized rocks that littered the forest floor. Ordinarily, such a nagging dread would have stopped her in her tracks, or at least had her sat beneath a shady tree stewing in her ignorance. But, where there was no hint of gruesome weather stinging her nose, there was another, so faint it'd gone almost completely unnoticed amongst the various other tingling scents of the forest. To say she was intrigued would be a stretch, but it felt foolish not to at least scout the source from a distance. She was nervous, if not only for the singular issue of direction. Whatever it was there wasn't a doubt in her mind, it hadn't traveled this way, it was approaching.

Adanya's paws anchored to the earth in an instant, her fur ruffling over her shoulders as every muscle contracted to stop. A figure like a shadow cast through broken trees stood stiff before her, all jagged edges and messy fur, towering even as she found herself on higher ground. Fear strangled her bones despite her outwardly "confident" posture, causing her legs to twitch under the strain of suppressed trembling. She wasn't afraid because she was cowardly, she was afraid because she was wise, wise enough to understand the beast before her outweighed her by unimaginable standards, and that alone was a cause for wavering breath.

Stojíš mi v cestě... She spoke clearly but it lacked composure, slightly edgy with an agitated anxiety that cut it into a sharper statement. There was a slim chance the wolf would recognize her mother tongue, as so many that passed through here had not, but even as she tried to fight through common speak, the comfort of familiarity won in the end.