[ could any of them have been prepared for this? she thinks back to the virtual reality, those she stayed with, those she tried to show small methods of endurance to. this is worrying, worse. she's better suited to handle it: wooly fur packed tightly and close to her willowy frame, fur thick in abundance, the means to regulate her own body heat. not because she's a god, but because she's a wolf.

freezing to death is a bad way to go. she has no experience, but she can imagine. slowly is never a good way to go. and so all her fretting lies with the others, and at times, it might be hard to spot her, her white blending with the white of everything else. she lopes and trots with diligent purpose, chilled, but undeterred, and she knows moving will keep the cold from scathing. she goes ahead frequently to learn the path, her eyes having as much trouble as anyone else's. with everything still, there's almost nothing to listen out for other than the other refugees, and though her nose still tries to detect what's ahead, it mostly smells snow and the mingling of all the rest around her.

she's restless. if she isn't picking her paws up high, pretty and effortless, to scout beyond the trudging group, she's circling back, on the outside, trying to account for everyone the best she can. it's rare to catch her sitting, or laying. for once, she forgets to stop for food, though it's never been a necessity. delicious as it is. there are times one might feel her weight moving against their side, warm support. or, she gingerly catches a cold hand in her teeth, nibbles with care to massage and inspire warmth back to the tips of fingers. her way of holding hands without having any to claim as her own.

and often, so often, if she does come to a standstill, she's raising her head back to let her voice soar into the frigid air. haunting howls calling anyone back to her, to them, the lot of them. friend, or stranger, or acquaintance. she's tenacious in it, follow this sound. we're here, i'm here. move your legs. your strength isn't dwindling, don't even imagine it. i'm here, i'm right here. a beacon of song to also help guide those who stray back to the path. ]

i. [ initially, she's a little wary of having something cuffed on her ear, but when she overhears the potential of thoughts reaching others, it seems too good to pass up. of course, of course she wants to be accessible.

simple thing, she thinks the word: ] Hello! [ sending it out to whoever's nearby. if thoughts have inflections, this one is feminine, sunlight, with a musical lilt. it's the kind of voice that might say "oh," a lot when delighted, and laugh a lot, if she could. if voices could embrace, this is the kind of voice she has, even tickling through ears out of an earring. she can't contain herself, her tail whipping in the air, and in succession, she sends out more messages to anyone near her in the vicinity: ]

Hello, hello, hello, hello!

ii. [ remember when meli said she could just sleep outdoors? well, even wolves have dens to stow away into in climates and tundras like this.

considering she hardly let herself rest for the trek to make it here, any single person can a hundred percent expect to catch her sleeping in their bed. either fully stretched out long, all five feet and two inches plus tail of her. legs dangling over the side. or head hanging off it, upside down. perhaps she's drooling on a pillow. sometimes her paws go in dreams, whiskers twitching, or an ear, her rumbling whines in disagreement with some unseen and unreal thing. she may even be curled up compactly.

getting her to budge won't be easy. she either stubbornly ignores whoever tries to wake her, or she'll heave her head up to slit her eyes, weighted in sleep, at them, groan her disapproval long and deeply, and then slowly put her chin over her paws and be out like she wasn't even disturbed to begin with.

with enough persistence, or even conversation, though, she will make more effort to awaken and visit with them. ]

iv. [ the first time she passes one the bug-like bots, the unsettling flash startles her enough into a growl, and her fur is still on end when the photos are scattering like falling leaves around her. cautiously, she goes to look once they've landed.

one photograph displays golden plains, with motes of light, a river bed that looks like a milky way. sitting in the tall shimmery grass is what appears to be angels: they're in white robes, their hair is lightly colored, but the wings protrude long, proud, and white from their heads. there's at least four, but more fly in the background, and they're smiling. at the center, a little behind the small focal group, appearing to be holding the hands of two, a couple of their faces frozen in laughter, is a womanly figure composed of nothing but light. it shapes four wings from what might be her head, like sunbeams, like a crown. even frozen in place like this, she has an undeniable presence, but she has no face, no certain features, she's as if sunlight had morphed itself the best it could into some form, though prone as it is to spreading, it's having a difficult time keeping her in one place.

this is her home. these are some of the first children she brought into existence. she's in this photo, too, but not as she is presently, staring down at it, unable to remove her eyes, all hushed and still.

within another stands a one-inch man, green light glowing around him. and upon closer inspection, it becomes obvious he's standing on a certain white muzzle, the black of her nose just beyond him. the scenery of cherry blossoms and villagers lying even further.

there's one of her walking the back of a long dragon, like a bridge. one of her peering into the sea to be greeted by a purple orca. another one shows her at the mossy bank of a dense forest, sitting with a boy fishing, without a line of all things, in a moonless body of water.

even for her, this is too much. her distant staring eventually gives to the quietest whimpers, and she nudges the photos along the ground, aimless. uncertain what she wants to do. she doesn't want to crush her teeth against them, and soon enough, her elbows bend to let her drop unceremoniously near the pile where she lays her head over them, as if intent on absorbing them. the impossible. ]

(i got a little worried about doing too much, so while there's still more prompts, i'll be finding other top-levels relating to them to see about tagging into! however, if nothing here suits your tastes, please, please come at me with anything. if you want to discuss anything first, you can pm me!)