Moonspear Are you that someone

A howl shattered the frigid silence, the soundlessness of winter. At the borders of the mountain stood a petite femme, fiery fur in stark contrast to the surrounding white. As the last notes faded from the still air, and silence reigned once more, did she wait, ears pricked and eyes forward, alert should someone answer her request for an audience. For she had quite enough of being a nomad, and the frigid temperatures had swayed the choice in when and if to seek a pack. Thus she stood here, awaiting an audience, still and patient.