Silvertip Mountain I was told there's only one road that leads you home

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Winter bites persistently at the heels of any living creature; a challenge that Mother Nature presents them all, year after year, with the mindset that only the strong would survive. Annaliese used to judge lone wolves for their stupidity during these months, and yet, she has learned there is little room for her to talk now. The yearling herself wandered from the cushioned life of spoiled royalty into a vast wilderness; the only one she can trust is herself in these conditions. She never understood the stories of how hunger would ache, and ache until finally, it numbed. Now she is starting to experience each fable. The teaching of her mentors are her only saving grace.

She bites down on the small hare between her jaws. It's body skinny with little fat, for it seemed to either be ill or unprepared for hibernatation and forced into an irregular schedule. Anna is just fortunate that it is something, though she fears eating more than a few bites at a time. If her stomach grows used to food and being filled, surely the pain will only return. She must be careful, and find a balance between keeping her strength and surviving. Perhaps it was foolish to traverse the mountains; maybe she should have remained in the Taiga, at least there are plains. There is little time to think of conquering hikes that dwarf her Slope; her icy blue eyes catch the shadows moving, dancing across the mountainside near to her position laid amongst dead undergrowth.

A wolf, she confirms upon closer inspection. Her eyes narrow, cautious of this stranger, especially with her meal. Fortunately, she is to the right of him. While she stays put, he seems to be climbing. Annaliese has never been great at blending in the winter landscape, however, and thus, sticks out like a sore thumb with her bright colors. The brown of dead bushes and trees can only help so much. She gets up slowly to her feet, but remains crouched close to the ground; prepared to use momentum if she needs.