Whitewater Gorge hit a few.

The feeling of unease hadn't left Liffey for even a second since she'd left the Vale. Even so, the simply act of acting had steadied her immensely. It had been a few days since her departure and she had yet to find his scent anywhere. Still, she kept along the paths she would have expected him to take, which led her now to the gorge.

The Blackthorn stood upon the higher cliffs, gazing down at the treacherous waters that raced along below. As eager as she was to continue her hunt, she wasn't so desperate that she felt tempted to risk herself needlessly. After all, Rannoch would never forgive her if she got herself hurt searching for him. Little did she realize the irony.

Liffey glanced downriver, trying to spy a safer crossing from afar. The wind rippled along the black stripe along her spine, whispering of an impending temperature drop, but she didn't pay it any mind. Her thoughts were elsewhere as she turned and began to trot along the ledge, her senses working still to find any trace of her wayward alpha, even knowing she was unlikely to be successful.