Bearclaw Valley is it okay to cry, sometimes?

all wrrreeelcome

a fog had rolled into the valley, clouting all visibility with thick roils of smokeborn white. indra had given up on hunting -- the heavy mist forbade it, and while she did not entirely rely on sight, it seemed like nothing dared venture out in such unfavorable conditions.

the snow underfoot was damp and soft, no doubt the rapid snowmelt was half the reason the valley was choked by harbor-like mist. indra stepped gingerly as she went along, avoiding the puddles as she went. she supposed she could secure the one small perimeter that marked the borders, and made towards it in a casual dogtrot.