Firestone Hot Springs Count My Cards, Watch them Fall
Saints Of The Dying Light
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The massacre on the beach had been her final act of defiance. She wasn't stupid- she knew if she went back to the coast she most likely would be killed. 
Still, there was a satisfaction that her message was sent in the cruelest way possible. No one controlled her. And no one touched her without facing the consequences. It was their own fault, really. They shouldn't have gotten involved.
But here they were...on this rediculus pilgrimage. There were some positives to it, of course. 
Living in Alaska she was well aware of what hot springs were. So imagine her delight when she smelled the metallic water. Choosing to bypass the mineral rich mud, she carefully chose an outlying spring, hesitantly dipping her tail. Hot springs were a deadly trap. Attractive, warm, with minerals that left a pelt glossy and soft, but step into the wrong pool and you could be dissolved in acid or boiled alive. 
Satisfied this one wouldn't kill her, she settled into it with a sigh.