Bitterroot swerved and weaved as she followed the river. It started out moving quickly, but as it broadened, the current slowed. Good; it’d take more time to carry Amanita… wherever. But at first, Bitterroot had a hard time finding anywhere a pony could climb out; the river rushed through steep-sided gullys, carved switchbacks into the land, and was generally a pain to ford. Whoever had built that town in the valley, they’d been lucky the river was so easily traversable there. Bitterroot kept her eyes peeled, looking for the first place the river would have normal banks or an especially slow current. Whenever she spotted such an area, she’d touch down and survey the area for tracks. It was a fool’s errand after the blizzard, her mind said, but she did it anyway. She didn’t spot anything resembling pony tracks. She glanced downriver; the forest eventually gave way to scrubland. Well, if she couldn’t spot anything in the forest, it’d be easier to see tracks when there wasn’t any-