Silvertip Mountain oh oh feely eyes

it's quiet, here. rusalka feels full, busy; things keep changing. here, walking beneath the snow-laden pines on the mountainside, nothing changes. there is only the soft fall of snow, the silence. the girl's path is aimless, wandering. she pauses to inspect an interesting whirl in the bark of a fur, the prancing tracks of some just-passed squirrel. 

ahead, tines peak out from the snow. she feels a little rush of joy, and hastens her steps. carefully, she unearths the antler; whole and beautiful. one tine, however, is encased in ice. settling herself down, the girl chomps carefully at the snow, determined now to take the prize home with her.