Whitewater Gorge The TV's on, the woman's blonde

The word of grandmaman was absolute and Chevalier de Cigue knew this well, but he resented her choice nonetheless. He had never held a desire to see his maman after she left, and he was sure that Viskani did not want to see him either; no peace was needed to be made between two wolves who had already moved on from one another. His grandmother may have kept it wrapped up in the mission of a message to be sent, but he understood her intentions all too well. She was always big on that you love them because they're your blood kind of crap.

He came to a gorge now, stretching out his neck to look into the icy waters that raged within. He would need to find a spot where he could hop over, or go around all together.

Eyes narrowed into what could only be a grimace of sorts, Chevalier looked down each end of the gorge before deciding to follow it north. He would need to rest soon, his paws aching and the pads surely drying out - he was never one for travel.