Overture Downs The loner marches under a thousand eyes

As the daylight faded to violet and the violet faded to the charcoal of night, a slow ember of fire grew in Asteria's stomach. It burned away the lackluster gray of day, freeing the silverline stars - and in a way, freeing her. It was as if she were made for the night, not the daylight. It was in the light of the pallid orb that she felt utterly happy. It drenched the gray snow with its luster until it too became pure white, and it kissed away the brisk night air.

Asteria traipsed through the white powder, her mitts leaving their imprint each time her legs lifted to stride forwards. The fae kept her cranium low to the ground, her nose vying to find purchase on a single scent. Then, there it was, and yet it was not what she sought. The scent was that of another wolf, not of the prey she had been hoping to catch. Astra's paws began to move once more, but stopped. Perhaps conversation was not such a bad idea. Her azure optics scanned the horizion, catching on the obsidian figure against the backdrop of the navy night sky. She paused momentarily, making sure that the shape was in fact a wolf, before she acted upon the opportunity. A noise rose in her jowls, breaking through the stillness, a chuff of greeting to the other wolf.