Early evening had come to the territory and for perhaps the first time in the entirety of her travels, Mojave could not help but take notice of how much later in the day it felt. The curling fingers of the end of autumn had come to wrap itself around all the things; she woke in the morning to find frost clinging to trunks of trees and bedding down in the thick, weary grasses she had rested in. Now it would have seemed that the wind carried a bite to it, one that dared to reach in her coarse coat and lunge for the skin.
So she had simply kept moving through the day, snaking her way along the paths worn in by her predecessors both current and not. Along the waterways that had led her there in the first place, she found solitude and silence hand in hand and for once, did not dread this. It wouldn't have been too hard to turn back from the borders and venture inward to feel apart of something. She had absently come out there in the first place to look around, to check on things. Trying to drum up the memory of what a less nomadic and more stationary pack was supposed to do.
Of course, she had half-hoped to find someone else out there doing the same thing she had started out to do. But for the moment, no one seemed to linger around or make themselves known. All Mojave opted to do was mill about uncertainly, for once lacking confidence that she had right up until things had started to go from bad to worse. The chill crept back towards her and she gave her coat a rough shake, dispelling the thoughts with it. A drink of the cold water would do her good and she brought herself closer to the bank's edge to bring her muzzle down.
After that though, she knew she'd better keep moving. The cold still felt close.