The more space she put between herself and Niara, the more difficult she found it to remember. Her memory faded with the scents of… of… of familiarity. Swift River was no longer a name realized or a place that floated about in her memory that ricocheted anxiously in the confines of her skull. Swift River was just a feeling, a strange feeling that she could barely grasp, a feeling that made her feel sick and confused. But walking, that made soothed her roiling stomach. Every step she took was another step away from that horrible feeling that she could not explain. Pretty soon, the old woman forgot what the sickness altogether.
But that was when the darkness set in.
It was not a physical darkness, for the sun still loomed high above her –it was a mental darkness. The blackness claimed everything she had ever known, everything she had ever loved. It even stole her fear of heights. There was only emptiness that rattled around in her head, though the bag of bones was incapable of knowing this. Darkness took this slowly, stealthily, and she had lost the ability to sense its gentle touch a long time ago. It stole away her wits without even rousing her awareness. So Ozera just continued to walk until suddenly she was climbing, scaling a callous rock-face. Although it hurt, the tattered wolf began to rely on her left-foreleg for support –otherwise, she would probably fall. She asked herself the same question she always asked, “<b>Have I been here before?</b>” Her paws fell into familiar crevices, and she stumbled in all the old, precarious places. She walked right past the old den without so much as stopping. “<b>Have I been here before?</b>” Ozera was a broken record.
Pain lanced through her worn body with every movement. But she had always been in pain, hadn’t she? This old injury was no big deal. But gradually, the agony became too much for her to ignore. She stumbled on the lip of a stony rise, collapsing in a pathetic heap on a flat, barren surface worn smooth by the yesteryears. “<b>Oops.</b>” Ozera tried to giggle through the pain. “<b>No big deal.</b>” But when she tried to throw herself back onto her three good legs, she found she could not. A crescendo of pain stole her breath away. The wind was strong here, and it slipped through her patchy coat and chilled her to the bone. Naked and exposed, she lay on the cold, hard rock, fighting a war against the gale force winds that buffeted her mercilessly.
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