Otter Creek the slowest spark is a breather

For @Honey Badger, hope it's OK that I set it a little more east of the creek, too.

Going home had been only one of the first few mistakes she supposed she had made. It was a foolish waste of time, a venture that only served her to be sent back out. Only it hadn't been a sending out that she had anticipated; she had been chased away. Her separation from Tonravik was a marked failure, perhaps a testament to her youth and arrogance. She should have been able to keep up, should have been able to track down one of her own kind. In full childish bloom, she was readily placing blame elsewhere, unwilling to bend to meet her own failure. It wasn't her fault that Tonravik and her band had given her the slip, though she should have expected such a tactic in the long run. Or not. She wasn't inclined to readily place the blame on her kin, either.

Through a jagged venture, she had also unknowingly crossed back into familiar territory. Familiar only in the sense that it was apart of the same region they had scouted out weeks ago, though the memory had been somewhat scrubbed loose of her mind. Anger had driven her back south for a while, but now it was replaced with acute weariness. If they wanted her gone from the northern reaches of Tartok, then fine. She could handle that. She had handled most anything so far, barring coming to terms with the aforementioned. A huff escaped her as she wove uncomfortably through nondescript foothills, sussing out the source behind a distant rush of water. She had decided, she'd get a drink, maybe scare something out of the wintry brush to chew on, and rest. After that, she'd make it up as she went along.

chvrches — we sink