Whitewater Gorge are you death or paradise?

though her heart lay westward -- buried in the hinterlands -- and she knew she would return there soon, harrowing found herself turning further east out of sheer curiosity (or more likely: boredom). there were packs out this way; she'd passed them on her way down from the lonely mountain by the sea, but there had been no compelling reason to venture near them. at least not until it occurred to her that she could potentially poach some packwolves for her own cause...

an entire morning of traveling northeast had been spent before she recognized this as a badly conceptualized plan. for what would she want, truly, with a wolf that would abandon its own pack to partner with a loner like herself? the she-devil was nothing to sniff at -- evident in the way she strode forward, undaunted and watchful -- but she had nothing to offer but herself, and she wondered for the first time if her time would be better spent joining the ranks of another, rather than forging a path of her own.

she sidled alongside a deep, roaring gorge, where the snow fell gently but would not take, and the well-hidden sun of the afternoon hours remained quietly at her back. the she-wolf had come to a high place that saw the canyon's edge thin to a bunny's hop away from the other side -- leaving her to wonder if she should cross or turn back west, where she surely most wanted to be.