Duskfire Glacier fired

this land was not for her.

she was far from the sea, far from faces she had learned of. this land was uncharted, entirely new to her.

but she braved it all with each step. a jagged hitch in her breath here and there. the way of an adventure. the glacier surely colder than anything she had ever experienced.

her nostrils flared, and she took in the sights around her.

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she fucking hated this frozen snot hundred degrees minus in summer shitcream mountain with every hair on her paper-thin coat - but ashes to ashes, dust to dust; when life's a cunt, theft is a must.

diesel knew scumeyes's pack hunted around here, driving lower ground prey up where it hadn't an advantage. scavenging would do fuck all for her chances of someday mingling with the wolves, but she was desperate. if another few days went without a meal, the mastiff would reach the point where her strength and bite - her bread and butter - would begin to shrivel.

and a dog without a card up her sleeve, that can't run, can't track, can't trap, can't do fuck-all, doesn't live to bemoan the winter.

diesel's long jowls dragged along the ground as she took in deep snoffs, looking for promising scent marks. her stocky, forward-heavy, wrinkled self pulled downward by gravity, made for quite an award winning sight amidst the cool landscape of shitpile fuck mountain.