An evening hue made the sky darken and blue eyes narrow. It was getting colder, and harder to see. The only thing that she could take comfort in was that the sky was clear tonight. Stars twinkled overhead and the snow seemed to stop for once. A travelling canine made her way to new land; walking with grace on four paws. She could still handle the dark. The breeze that streamed through her long fur was strong, not the subtle winds of her home. It was also cold. Her dark claws stepped through piles of snow that went past her belly. A frown pursed her lips as she walked through this. She loved the Winter… And she hated it. She was too small to navigate easily through the snow. But it was so pretty, and should she not love her birth season?

Her underpelt blended in with the terrain she walked in, her only giveaway the soft gray of her back. And the light blue of her eyes. Her tail steadied her as she continued onwards, to a land that seemed to stretch out for miles. If one peered closely they would see subtle ribs protruding from her body; her stomach caved inwards. And the hunger of one who lived on their own for too long. But from afar she was like the rest; a mere blip on the horizon. Determined to move forward. She had so much time to think. She was alone now. She could no longer care for dear Runa. But could she care for herself? She was beginning to question that as she came upon this hopeless land. How did one survive in it?

~*~ The little she-wolf cracked down on the bones between her paws. Bits of ribcage splintered as easily as ice in spring. Well, perhaps not quite the right thought for a location quite like this. Here there was ice in places all year round. But it was sort of nice. Familiar. Just like where she had grown up. In her time here, her fur had fluffed out and coat had thickened. Remembering old days and harsher climates. Her body had been babied by her years traveling in the south. Well, not babied perhaps - constant travel and good food meant she had the figure of a creature years younger, despite sometimes feeling as old as the very hills she hunted upon. Hunting had been easy today. The gods giveth and the gods taketh away. Well today they'd given: a bull elk, maybe sick, maybe old, maybe just stupid, had gotten itself stranded and lost. A broken leg among the ice spelled the end for it. It was dead when Orica had found it, and mostly frozen, like the rest of the frost-bitten tundra. Birds and beasts had been at it already. There were still crows that circled about, or sat in the snow and cawed at her. She didn't bother chasing them away if they ate from the other side of the carcass. After all, it was the sight of them wheeling over head that had brought her running from many a mile away. Over folds and flats to where the kill lay reddening the snow. It was a lucky find and the meat here would soon cover her own bones. But something like this always drew other eyes. Even a place this far north had many visitors. Orica was the furthest thing from a fighter. If any of the hulking brutes she'd glimpsed in the past season came upon her with malicious intent she would run for the hills as quick as any crow can fly. But now she felt safe and content, the smell of blood in her nose, and the sounds of her teeth amidst frozen flesh drowning out any approaching paw steps. ~*~