Felltree Marsh Across the Sea of the Dead

As much as she felt she searched the mountain range, she still comes up empty. She doesn’t know where else to look or where he might be. Even her family is long gone. She releases a heavy sigh and moves back through the taiga, realizing how far north she’d gotten. At this point, she doesn’t know where to go. It’s getting late in the ate and the days are colder than the last and she doesn’t want to try and survive the winter without someone to help. Leaving her last home at this time had maybe been a bad idea but she felt so sure she could at least find a trace of those she once knew but they’ve all moved on too. 

Ocra sighs, shifting through one territory into the next until the ground gets soft. The wind bites at her skin, penetrating her fur even with a winter coat. Her tail sways back and forth lazily and she retreats back a little, recalling the first marsh she’d gone through. Wet and sticky and gross and… ugh. The last thing she wants is to go through it again but just as the rest of night begins to settle in, she sees a silver of pale up ahead. She can’t note the scent and the fur isn’t as clear as it could be—marshes are gross, after all—but she chuffs loudly, hoping to carry the distance because crossing over wet and sloppy ground in the first breath of winter is definitely not something she will do.

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