Moonspear there's an old voice in my head

the girl is draped over a fallen oak; thick and ancient. it is one of many victims of the quake, and the once-proud thing serves now only as her resting place. she is panting, out of breath after her climb of the mountain earlier that day. in an effort to regain stamina and strength, she's made it routine to charge up the mountainside each morning. each time, she gets a little further than the last before she has to stop for breath. this time, however, she'd fallen back; making it only as far as she had three days before. it is disappointment that weighs heavy on her then, so much so that only an ear flicks in the direction of the sound when it comes. a snapping branch, the crush of snow; in the trees, something moves.