Larksong Grotto like a mantle of mystery

With her own brood sleeping soundly for the night, Nyx regarded them with one last longing glance over her peppered shoulder before departing from the rendezvous. The night was young, and the lioness welcomed its darkness as she descended from Sagtannet's spire to hunt in the lowlands below.

She prowled through the dense woodland of their neighbouring grotto, silent on careful paws and with her nose to the ground. While she detected no fresh scent or sign of prey, Nyx lingered curiously at the undeniable tracks left by a wolf through the grass. They were fresh, she could tell. A low rumble formed in her breast as she stalked after the rogue's trail, plume flagging at her rear.

Much to her surpise, the figue she found was a familir one. Wintersbane was a brute she'd known only briefly, but recognition softened her brow as she pressed onward to approach him. "Wintersbane?" Nyx said aloud, voice softened to maintain the stillness of night.