Qeya River the wind finally sleeps

Other Shore came, on the wind, off the wind, running.

Of all the places her feet had ever touched, her eyes had even witnessed, this particular area had swept into her gaze and had refused to leave ever since. She could not hear the river's trickle, but it sighed to her; she could not smell the trees, but they awaited her; she could not call to the mountains, but the mountains called to her.

And so, Other Shore, she who has no home, came running to no home.
 
Odd scents, scents found everywhere but nowhere, prickled her nose. A figment of her imagination, perhaps, thanks to her exhaustion. Or maybe a figment of this river. 

She stopped. Leaned her head towards the sky. Counted her breaths. She was tired, as much as she loathed to admit. Rest was something she dearly despised, given that her eyes and ears were endlessly ravenous for new sights and sounds, but rest was needed. If any creature attempted to end her life now, they would have a very, very easy time picking her off. 

She collapsed onto the ground. Scents drifted by her, perhaps carrying the smell of wolves or trees, but she paid little attention. If a wolf came along and declared the area to be their territory, then so be it. She would just pick herself up and wander off on her foolishly sore legs.