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Nevermore - Ghenaya - 4/14/2026
There was nothing for her in the north.
The cold never let up. The herds had thinned to the point of vanishing. It wasn't enough to scavenge from the earth.
Starling watched herself get thinner. She pushed herself in to longer hours roaming.
When she got lucky, it meant something different now; not the satisfaction of a hot meal, but the chewing of bones for their marrow core. She carried a worried piece of bone with her now—sustenance, comfort, it was all the same.
She drank at the riverside—tried to fish, grew impatient. Crossing to the wildwood on the other side seemed pertinent. No matter what, she knew she could not stop moving.
To stop meant to die.