It had been many days since anything positive had happened to him. He was beginning to lose track of the days, but it had been nearly two weeks since he'd become separated while traveling with his pack. The first few days had passed coherently, but the hours and days quickly blurred together. For a blind wolf there was no day or night to mark the time, only constant paranoia and changing weather. Thirteen days of fearful expectation had worn his mind down. A previously trapped hind leg twitched with a mind of it's own. There was something he had to find, something dreadfully important. But he couldn't think of what and the snow was so invitingly soft.
Something squawked loudly above him (a speculative raven) and he heaved to his feet. His head swung mechanically to the right again, remembering the direction he'd been headed before his fall. It didn't matter that the way was slick and rocky underfoot or that what he searched for was no where near the Heights. This was the same direction he'd been travelling for three days now. Mind slipping and body wasting away, Hodr could at least pride himself on not getting turned around again. That had to count for something, right? Another rock shifted under the snows, but Hodr clumsily caught himself and continued dragging himself up Riddle Heights.