Bitterroot Valley a green truck hummed low

*Cha cha slides into thread*

Cynefrid had eventually dragged herself to a towering, open valley of rather impressive heights. It was quite a task to make it this far considering the limp in her right leg that inhibited her from obtaining any proper balance while walking — and those ghastly burn marks that had been seared to her flank during the fire was the reason why. The she-wolf pondered for a while on whether she could use the strange pink blossoms that littered the ground as some sort of paste to help with the persistent pain, but Cyne knew better than to touch random plants from strange lands she had yet to come accustomed to.

Ever since fleeing from her now destroyed homelands to run towards safety, furrowed brows of worry looked to be permanently plastered onto her soft features ever since. Concern for her fellow packmates in Kingslend festered in her chest and she yearned to find them once more. Are they safe? Were they harmed from the fire like she was? If so, Cyne wanted find and take care of them as soon as possible. 'Oh High Elk, please lead me towards those who I've been separated from....'

The fawn-colored damsel's aimless trotting came to an abrupt stop when she sniffed the air and noticed a familiar scent nearby. Had the High Elk answered Cyne's prayers and lead her towards the rest? In an attempt to see if such a thing was true, Cynefrid called out to the one she believed this scent belonged to. "Friede...Friede dear, is that you?". She was not sure if her senses were obscured since the fire or if there was even a wolf belonging to the fragrance, but the femme was desperate to at least find someone who'd survived.