Swiftcurrent Creek deadly light

The water of the creek was moving quickly enough to not have frozen over yet, although winter's icy touch had still attempted to form a old upon it. The edges—where it was placid or nearly so—were frosted in the deeper portions and a few inches solid where the water was thin. She could spy upon some of the river stones poking their tops through the ice and it was, in a way, charming. Aside from the twinkling sound of the creek's central pulse, the area was quiet. It was still and calm, and all she could hear aside from this was her own racing heart.

Rheia was panting hard as she traced a route along the creekside. Her ribs were expanding and contracting at quite the pace, and even when she assumed a lazier pace, things did not settle. The stress of the climb had been too much for the poor girl; she craned her head low and drank heartily of the cold water with the hope it would soothe, but it only made her feel cold and empty inside. This was no good—if she didn't find Sif—

—a breath on the wind; it was so quiet she nearly missed it beneath her beating heart—

Rheia's head shot up and her eyes locked upon the silhouette of the white wolf and, though he nearly vanished among the snow, her breath hitched in her throat and she felt her heart skip a beat. It was not due to any serendipitous thing such as attraction or 
desire. The poor girlhad moved so quickly that her mind began to spin, and her fear got the better of her. She took a step and the next thing she recalled, she was deep among the snowscape looking up at the heavens.