Lost Creek Hollow so im going back to santa monica, new york to L.A

Sif was trying to navigate the woods with a large stick held tightly between her jaws. Her lips and gums were bleeding freely, cut and bruised by the shifting of the branch as it knocked into rocks and tree trunks indiscriminately. An airy whine slipped through her teeth as the stick hit another trunk, jerking her head to the side when he tried to keep going. Why was the forest attacking her? Did it really need this stick?

"Staven min!" she snarled, jerking on the stick to dislodge it from the bark. Free at last, the dark girl continued on her way, her fur bristling as she negotiated a way through the trees.

And then there was a voice - a real danger. "Staven min," Sif said to herself, voice muffled by her prize. She would not release the stick to the trees, and she would not release it to the wolf that came humming around the bend, looking exactly the way Sif imagined a stick-stealer would look.

Sif froze, one paw held delicately in the air, and waited for the stick-stealer to make her move.