Bitterroot started galloping. Then she sped up. And more. She could keep running, she knew. She could keep running forever. And if she could do that… She turned for the river, spread her wings, and climbed. And climbed and climbed. She tore through the clouds, hovering above the forest below and to the north, above the scrubland to the south, above the mountains all around. She grinned to herself. The climb was the hardest part of flying, but here she was, doing it without the least bit of strain. She never thought she’d say anything like this, but being dead wasn’t half bad.