His scent wavered at the river. Willow bent down, digging her hands into the mud, and lifted it to his face. Thankfully, he had decided to not cross. It would have surely killed him. These were glacial fed rivers, numbing the skin within seconds of contact.

He went west. She rinsed her hand and quickly dried it on her pants, stuffing it back inside the gloves she had grabbed as she left her house. This was a furious storm. Thunder echoed miles away, crashing against the mountains ...