All are welcome.
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Four disproportionately large paws, symbols of this one most awkward stage of growing, slithered and pounced from rock to rock, over rattling pebbles, through rustling clumps of frosty straw-like reeds and brittle vegetation. Legacy had spent many days almost exclusively in her fire-warmed home, hearing tales and inventing some of her own; absorbing knowledge like a sponge and trying her best to be helpful, though it was difficult without venturing out - and difficult for her, in her young unshifting body. She could only carry one or two sticks of firewood at once and wasn't big enough to bring down anything large enough to feed more than herself. Optimistically, she considered that there was always a chance: it was better than doing nothing about it while others provided for her. Every member of the pack had a job to do, but as far as she could tell hers was just growing up. Which she supposed was apt enough, but she felt pretty grown as it was, now. Almost six months.
Now the day was already about half over - not that the sun position was easily read through this cloud, but whenever it did peer through, the white surface of the Yawrah glittered attractively. She'd heard about the dangers of the frozen river in the winter season. She figured as long as she didn't venture onto the ice itself, she couldn't fall through. It was delightful to be so close to it though, thrilling to trace her path along the very edge of the solid bank. Ignoring the fact that here was unlikely to be any more prey and if she really meant to find success as a contributor to the den's supplies she should try elsewhere and even if a kill was unlikely now, a little practice would be in order. No, Legacy would rather follow the river, this huge belt of silver-black solidity that was both frightening and peaceful.
The far bank was closer now, the river narrowing. A pristine sheet of ice lay between her and the other side. No foolishness would cause Legacy to lay a paw on there without knowing exactly what she was doing, but she couldn't help stopping and turning her head to stare almost fixedly over at the far bank, like a wild horse at a pasture fence. She'd never crossed over. It would perhaps be a long time before it was possible again.