Mountains made of clouds

It was time to begin her slow journey back north. Her caribou herd had no doubt started their migration, and she intended to reunite with them as quickly as possible. The strange weather phenomenon that had struck the lands recently was quite peculiar but not something that alarmed her terribly. The seasons were not something static and unmovable - it was typical that they changed from one year to the next, so she wouldn't put too much thought into it, not until she needed to. Instead, she'd focus on the present and on her journey back north, though there was one wolf she seemed to keep running into time and time again. It was hard to not accept that perhaps Víðarr belonged in her life in a more permanent basis than most wolves, though she'd not yet determined what exactly that meant to her.

It did mean that when she came across his scent, she didn't even consider ignoring it. Perched at the top of the ravine, she slowly made her descent downward, following her friend's scent closely. When they'd spoken last she hadn't had a chance to ask him where he might be headed next and she thought now that she wouldn't mind catching up with him again before she headed back north. Sniffing hard at the crisp morning air, she made the final leap down the craggy terrain and to the bottom of the ravine, searching for him.