Fiore was lost, utterly and completely. The world around her had dissolved into a blur of shadowed trees, endless snow, and bitter cold. The wind lashed against her face, each gust feeling like sharp needles piercing her thick fur, stealing away what little warmth she had left.
Every step was a struggle, her legs aching as if weighed down by the freezing air, but she kept moving, stubbornly pressing forward. She knew she wasn't even halfway there. Hell, she wasn’t even a quarter of the way to the north.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips, dry and hollow. Weakness was beginning to settle into her bones, and with it came a sinking realization—she had acted impulsively, recklessly, again. Why had she done this? She could have handled things differently, more rationally. She could have stayed
