Millie had always been a wanderer, even since the moment she finally found the strength to stand.

But this?
This was different.

She was a wanderer. Not a risk-taker. She didn't like danger, nor mystery, nor situations where she would almost certainly bite off far more than she could chew.

So why was she here, now? She had no idea where this place was. She'd been here for a few days at most, made a single acquaintance out of sheer luck, and now...?

The slope of the mountain smelled putrid. Millie hacked and coughed against the fumes, wrinkling her nose and grimacing. And simply to make matters worse, the further up she traversed, the harder it was to breathe; she took deep gulps of breaths, yet no amount of air would satiate the burning desire for oxygen in her lungs. That, coupled with the foul odor, made her light-headed.

She didn't even think she would make it up the mountain anymore—but she was more than halfway there now. It felt so wrong to turn back now, after all the effort she'd put into scaling the massive ridges.

And, soon enough, she finally—finally made it to the summit. It took her until now to finally realize that the source of the smell all along had been the goddamn snow. Snow that, rather than its usual pristine white, emitted the slightest hue of purple.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a silhouette. Millie squinted before trying to call out—but all she could muster was a wheeze. Heey, she paused to cough. Her eyes narrowed, her throat burning. The wolf seemed to be approaching a hole that, inexplicably, exhaled a frigid gale.

'What the hell?'

She fumbled forward to catch up to the monochrome figure. No more did she attempt to speak, for all that resulted in was a dreafully sore throat—instead, she scowled and dipped her head, praying that mutual understanding would suffice.