How long had she been aimlessly walking now, Months or years? The passage of time flowed in a cruel never ceasing stream, and Durnheviir was numb to it. She could have sworn it had just been springs, but in the blink of an eye it was howling winds and blinding snow. She didn't mind the snow, the bitter cold, or the eerie silence that same with the biting weather. She had accepted her destiny of solitude from a young age, as such she had no real connection with anyone or thing. Sure she had met the odd person here and there, had laughs and fun but kept herself from forming any real connections. She couldn't set down her roots just anywhere, even if she had wanted to. No, something deep and ancient was beckoning to her from the unknown. She felt the need to seek deep beneath her bones and marrow, but the thing she is searching for is lost to her. Durnheviir wishes she knew what it was, a place, a person, or maybe a thing? She assumes this need to seek comes from her bloodline, her ancestors had broken from tradition and became explorers of the frozen north.

Durnheviir remembers the elders telling their clans history, of the brave few who left the jungles of their birth. How the true gods had chosen them and had called to them to travel to the furthest reaches of the north. The journey was dangerous, a test by the Gods the elders said, so that only the strong would make it to the North. The weak either turned and went back to the jungle, surely to be shunned by the Gods for their weakness while the strong trudged on towards were the gods were calling from. At last after months of traveling they had made it to the caverns, warmed by a natural hot springs that was surely the blood of their great Gods. Surprisingly some of the weak made it, but only by the kindness of a few. This angered the Gods, the weak were to perish so the bloodlines would be strong, the weak have no place in the North. So the Gods cursed the clan, that while the strong would change and adapt to the climate the weak would remain the same as when they had left the jungle.

And that was a nice bedtime story Durnheviir was told countless times growing up. She looks at herself now her sickeningly coat red as ever, a testament of her particular branch, the weak ones. She remembers growing up as a weak one, her genetics still stuck as some jungle heathen rather than that of the strong Northern bloodlines. She thinks of her mother, with her disgusting coat a dull red with coal points, her silver tongue and quick thinking. The weak ones relied on their knowledge and cunning to get by in the clan, despite being the smartest in the clan they were always destined to be at the bottom of the pecking order. Only the Gods declaration of them being allowed to stay kept the rest of the clan from purging the entire line. Durnheviir glares out at the sky, life wasn't fair and she lost the genetic lottery. She thinks of her father now, her glare dissolving and being replaced by a slight smile and sad eyes. Her father was a Strong one, arguably the strongest within the clan. He was a mountain of sleek muscle covered in thick grey fur with points as black as the void and with eyes the color of molten gold. Oh Gods did it hurt to see the sadness in his eyes when she had left due to the yearly purging.

Durnheviir lets out a deep sigh, she hadn't even tried to win the purge. For this she felt splinters of shame, but it had been the smart thing to do. She never could have won being the way she was, and she would need all her strength for traveling. Originally she had all but assumed the Gods had abandoned her for tapping out and leaving the north, but no she could hear them in the wind and feel them in her soul. For this she was grateful, she wouldn't know what to do if her Gods had truly abandoned her. So she gave them her thanks every sundown and left part of her kills and meal for them in offering. She could hear them now, whispering on the howling wind and what they whispered she knew not.

She lets out another low sigh as the wind caresses her coat, the scent of other wolves within it. Maybe this is the place she has been seeking, or maybe its not, only time will tell. Never the less she continues to make her way along a mountain path, having just passed over the top a few hours ago. Below here she sees nothing but icy clouds of fog, getting closer as she continues her decent down into the unknown. The snow must have stopped some time during her trip down memory lane, she thinks to herself as she shakes some residual snow from her back.