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She sniffed the air, and sensed the approach of another long, solitary night, caressed only by the needle like fingers of the biting winds that sculpted and froze the high Andes landscape. While she stood, gladly receiving the gift of warmth from the dying sun, she studied the plains, looking for somewhere to shelter for the night, a place that might hold the frost in abeyance from her fur, that might bring back memories of kneeling with her own kind, that might hold back the icy memories of what happened to her family. But as always, the plains were to be cruel and no shelter beckoned. As the sun dipped, the stars rose and the wind awoke, she trudged towards a small clump of grass, in the hope it might hold some comfort. Once more she sniffed the air, and smelt the coming night. Wait! There was something else there. Something she hadn't smelt for longer than she could remember. Trembling she sniffed again. Where? What?
(to be continued. Maybe. Not sure by who. Or when. they again, maybe not)
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