Details of the tales of Shadow of the Pride have faded in my memory since I was a cub, taken away by the icy peaks I do my duty on, and time. I find myself on the road to Phandalin though, far from our original home, and close to where her journey to legend began.
How much of it is exaggerated, I do not know. She existed, for she was put to rest amongst our clan, but how fabricated the tales of her own journey was, I do not. I record this here, so that I do not forget, as time marches on for me also, of any details that I might bring back to my clan. She deserves to be remembered with as close to the truth as can be managed, and I distrust the accuracy of bards.
The caravan leader I find myself with, Ghelryn Foehammer, is an old enough dwarf to recall her being there, or someone whose general description matched. He recalled little, but it is a start. It is promising. How much I will be able to learn, though, before my duty calls too strongly, I am uncertain.