Bitterroot Valley This used to be the future

And thus, this chick makes her entrance! Whoever the heck she is. :P Now I just gotta make her an av. 

It was like the lights suddenly clicked back on. She froze, mid-stride, in the middle of... Somewhere? Her hackles raised, head turning to survey where she had suddenly become aware of her own presence. It was, to say the least, mildly perplexing. Though she couldn't put a paw on the exact time aside from "midday" but she was sure that at least a few hours were lost, if not more, and that she wasn't meant to be here. Or was she? It wasn't familiar. Maybe it should have been? She could see that she'd been walking for some time, and not carefully -- her trail was easily visible behind her in the thin layer of snow.

Looking inwards, all she could see was a void and a few blurry flashes, hints of memories that were buried. Buried. Had she been buried? A rock slide? Something earthen seemed right, but she couldn't pin down the moment. It fled her, leaving her alone in the middle of some big grassland that she was sure wasn't her home. But that was ok. For some reason she was sure that not being home was the right thing, though she could have been half way around the globe and not known it, the way things were now.

With the return of her conscious mind had come a not-too-insignificant twinge of panic. She drew in a breath to attempt to quell it, stopping short as her ribs caused a spike of pain to surge through her, pushing away the now-fading adrenaline to remind her of something: it wasn't just her ribs aching, everything did. The reason her eyes didn't want to focus was because her head was throbbing, her mouth dry, and her right shoulder shuddered like it didn't entirely want to bear the weight. She drew in a breath, smaller than the last, drawing in the familiar coppery scent of blood. Hers, it smelled like. Mostly? Eh. Seemed like entirely.

Looking back at her tracks and the parts of her pelt that she could, despite her currently limited range of movement, it didn't seem like she was bleeding any more at least.  Everything seemed attached and reasonably functional.  To those that might stumble upon her, she looked far worse than she could see.  The back of her head was smeared with now-dry blood, running into the fur on her neck which stood up in random, crusty ruddy spikes.  She looked like she'd rolled around in the dirt, with a few smears of mud up against a few clean patches that seemed like they were likely more accidental than on purpose. A few other places along her hide had a bit of a pinkish tinge to them but it wasn't clear whether they hid small cuts beneath or were smears from when the major one on her head was fresh.

After a minute paused, neither seeing nor smelling anything that could answer her questions, she willed herself forward. The only sure thing was that she needed to find some non-frozen water and figure out what questions she could answer.  The rest was a jumbled mess.

She could sense metal in the air and she gagged as the acrid smell burned in her nose, playing against the back of her tongue. It was not the blood of prey— a sweeter smell, perhaps because they did not eat meat— but decidedly wolf in nature. That always made her squeamish, even when it was she that inflicted the wounds. Meteora had mastered the art of "poker face" in those situations, but now that she was no longer... well. Now, it no longer seemed to matter if she showed such weakness or not.

But she had a morbid fascination, desiring to find out if the injured party was okay or if the wounds had been fatal; and, despite her exile, Meteora would never forgive herself if it was a she-wolf— a long lost sister— that she could have assisted but failed to do so. If it were a male, well, the world was better off.

It was some time before the silver female finally spotted the other, and she watched a moment as the other made slow progress forward. Meteora lifted her head to scent the air, eyes stinging as she tasted blood more strongly, attempting to parse out what information she could on the wind... but the wound was too overpowering.

If it wasn't absolutely 110% clear that she was going to be feeling pretty awful for several days, the walk made sure to point that out.  Whatever had happened had been a full-body experience. She tried to put the pieces back together, but even when she paused to look behind herself again, it didn't seem like there were any likely points where that would have happened. How much time had she been walking before her brain finally started recording things again? Hours? Days?

Right now she was keen on trudging her way towards some form of running water. Anything with a reasonable nose knew she was coming, and she was thankful it wasn't summer, or likely she'd be covered in a mantle of flies, all wriggling about in hope she'd keel over before dislodging them. Then she might actually go for a roll in the pitiful bit of snow on the ground just to be rid of them. She was heading downhill right? Hm. Maybe not. She adjusted her path, adding a zag to her wandering tracks, her change in orientation bringing a darkish figure into her line of sight. Huh. How long had they been there?

Blinking, she did her best to focus. Well, they weren't running at her and this particular area didn't seem very lively -- a nearby pack would certainly have had enough foot traffic to cause all kinds of scents to waft across this place -- so it might be her only chance to get some form of directions. She did rather hope that distant wolf wasn't a complete stranger like her, that'd be just her luck. Actually, her luck might be they'd turn out to be someone not-so-friendly and she'd have to bluff her way out of trouble. She adjusted her path again, heading towards the figure a few steps before calling, Hello? Her voice cracked slightly -- yeah, water would be good.

She watched the stranger stumble for a moment, hesitant to draw near; Meteora was a bit of a nosophobe, a trait passed down to her by some distant relative. Illness and disease could mean death, and as a creature that did not know what it was to be hunted, sickness was her greatest fear. But when the injured female suddenly zagged in her direction before resuming a relatively normal pace and path, the silver woman had no choice but to speak— or so she told herself, because fear or not, Meteora felt a pang of concern for the other (particularly now that it had become obvious it was not a male).

"What happened to you, sister?" she queried, before wincing apologetically and switching to the common tongue to repeat it, her accent rhythmic. "You need water," Meteora scolded immediately after, almost motherly, though she eyed the wound on the she-wolf's head with suspicion. Not illness, then. She was no healer, but the exiled woman knew without some sort of attention, the wound could fester and kill.

"Fresh water first, then we take you to the Sea," she continued, her r's trilling. Like many Nereides, the woman believed in the healing properties of the ocean's salt water— though they did not attribute it to or know of the debridement properties, but rather to their Goddess' power and love for Her daughters.

Since it's been a while, I'm gonna tack a conclusion on this thread. If you bring her back and want to continue it, let me know! I'd imagine it's only a round or two from a possible stopping point anyway.

She was no longer alone. Seeing another had brought to the surface the desperation that the fawn wolf boxed up somewhere beneath. Things were lining up to actually work in her advantage, despite the scenario, and she was going to grab onto whatever positive things landed in front of her with all of her figurative teeth and claws and do her best to not let go.  Her pace quickened so they could meet closer to halfway between them.

It was a dark silver woman who came to her rescue, going from a blackish blur to someone who'd actually be recognizeable.  The odd language that came first from the stranger's maw worried her for a moment -- had she been whacked that hard or wandered that far?  No, no.  Calm down.  It was repeated in something she could understand.  I think a rock slide?  I was walking... without thinking?  I don't know where, she said, not nearly as elegantly as she otherwise would have.  Like the gaps in her memory there were gaps in her words as well, but enough of it was there that it likely made sense.  And a rock slide sounded kind of right at least... but not quite.  Either way, right now she wasn't being provided any clues to whether it was the full truth after all.

Oh, but water!  She nodded vigorously -- or started to until the muscles that ran along the back of her neck rejected that idea. Is there some near here?  Ocean too?  Had she even seen the ocean?  She was pretty sure she had come from inland areas.  She took another step, eager to get going. You're from here? As far as she was concerned, this grey wolf was an angel of luck and the pale one was quite willing to take the chance to follow her wherever she lead.

I'm... She paused.  Who was she?  It was practically on the tip of her tongue, but nothing was there. Feverishly, her eyes searched for clues around her.  Was that..?  It seemed almost right.  I'm Pebble!  Gosh, that totally escaped me for a sec there.  Sure.  Whatever.  She'd be Pebble for now.  It seemed so close..! Ugh.  Whatever.  Water.  They were pointed at water now, weren't they?  The other wolf lead the way so she could take a drink, then she was pointed towards the sea.  Pebble trundled off that way.