Shadow Mountain Underneath your skin

Dense swamps had turned into barren wintry meadows that had once been alight with the lush beauty of summer and rich luxury of fall. The femme had taken a meandering journey north, a mindless adventure with no true destination, and ended up in the thick underbrush of the mountain. To her, the journey was pointless. Perhaps she would stop once the ice cold lands further north tested the reaches of her ancestors's thick pelt, or perhaps she would wake up the next day and turn around.

A limber branch snapped at her flank as she padded carlessly through the forest, arouseing a vulger snarl to tear from her maw. After months without seeing others, Feyre had become nearly feral in nature. The thick greenery of the dark forest, shrouded in cloud cover, seeped into her senses. It carried the scent of fresh leaves crunched under paws and damp soil from an earlier mist. Yet, beneath those scents lay the destinct undercurrent of something alive.

Feyre turned towards the smell, ivory ears flicking in distaste, maw curled into a wary snarl. "Hello?" She hoarsely called out, her voice scratchy due to its misuseage. At least you remembered how to speak. If speaking out load had not shocked her, it was the reappearence of her concience that did.