Streams of Silver didn't always lead the travels her family went on. Sometimes, the doe wound up scouting in a wholly unproductive direction, and as dusk began to fall, the telltale howling of the muskies signalled that the doe had been beaten to finding a good place to congregate for the night.
On nights such as these, she was rewarded from her efforts with a significant amount of backtracking, and even more difficulty trying to pick the way the other scouts had found to go ahead.
She was currently working her way up a slippery, muddy slope, doggedly trying to get purchase without having to slip down on her knees– there was no clean watersource that she'd found nearby to bathe in.