Walking with her paw, as it would prove, was incredibly difficult. Each movement was laborious and barely any pressure could be placed upon the sight of the wound or else it would threaten to bleed once more. Anyone with experience on a mountain could tell you how rigorous the climb was - and anyone with a limp on said mountain could tell you how damn <i>awful</i> it was to haul your ass up with three legs instead of four. Resilient as ever, though, Ava had made it. She had refused to sink, regardless of the metaphorical anchor her wounded paw was. Laboriously she had dragged her very soul through the climbing mountain passes, panting and whining every so often, but forcing herself through the pain. And in the end, her efforts would prove to be fruitful: she had ended up in the highest of the rises, where her own favorite sunbathing stone lay, and with a horribly performed leap she'd made it up there where the warmed stone welcomed her like an old friend.
Of course, that was hours ago. The sun had been high above when Ava had made her trek, slowly willing her three working legs through the least difficult paths she could remember. Ultimately it had taken longer, not only from her injury but also the winding, completely out-of-the-way directions that the easier paths took her. Stubborn as the ass Ava often liked to be, she couldn't very well admit defeat and return to the flat lands. No, because once she made it, the sunbathing boulder felt so amazing beneath her sore legs that she was certain it was worth it. But that was then, and now the sun was steadily falling as the gentle sound of twilight egging her to return to the den where she knew she belonged. But every time she shifted her weight her body reminded her what a rough journey it had been to the top and made her one whiny girl: she really, really, just did not <i>want</i> to make the trip back down. Did she have to? No, she didn't, she was close enough... but really, she had to. Really?
Luckily her immature fight with herself had an abrupt end when a gust of mountain wind brought with it a smell she could recognize anywhere. Within her chest was an explosive collision of curiousity and fear: never had any Swift River wolf even come near the mountains, perhaps because they didn't know where Rhysis and Naira had stolen off to, or perhaps because they weren't yet prepared for a confrontation. But at the same time, in her current state, neither was the well-branded she-wolf. Her vibrant gaze had grown shifty, frantically picking apart the land-scape she could see.
Thankfully for her added height, thanks to her trusty sunbathing perch, it didn't take too long to pick out a brown and cream wolf she had never seen before, moving amongst the rocky outcrop. Ava couldn't <i>smell</i> age; from here, he looked a full-grown male, and instantly she had to equate him with her only true encounter with a River wolf - which had been the nameless, but very large and strong, pale stranger in the Willows. Heavens above, did they have to breed them all so big and male? She'd had a decent chance with that loony-ass bitch in the field, because despite her greater size she had been underfed and, well, bat-shit crazy. What was Ava, lacking one paw, going to do against a healthy, full-grown pack wolf? Suddenly he stopped entirely. Though his back was to her, a twinge of paranoia raised her hackles for her which she desperately attempted to smooth out while she lowered her head and pressed her body into the now cold stone.
<i>Please don't look, please go away, please continue on your merry voyage,</i> the mantra in her head went as she stared daggers at the intruder, hoping he'd somehow telepathically get her message and indeed skip on his merry way. <i>Please</i>.