Mount Everfall for when she wakes, she will move mountains

her paws were skilled at seeking the paths in the steep mountainside, for after spending one's life living within the ranges one simply ought to be. Her lithe form was athletic, well-built, and her endurance hardly flagged as the day went on and she moved along the rocks. Not once did she slip, sure in her ability, fogged chestnut orbs scanning over the mountainside with piercing focus.

the kill was made when the sun had just begun to kiss the horizon, a lemming. The meal was gone within minutes, and the winter demanded that she not waste a single morsel. But a month had pasted since she had struck out in search of whatever new adventures may befall her outside her band. They had been few, but she had loved them all feircely, and had made her leaving all the worst.

She had certainly grown leaner, harder, since leaving them, and though she was content with her life as a loner, she could hardly turn back now; for that would defeat the entire purpose of her outing. And hardly could she expect to reach them before winter set in. As the last of the lemming vanished in her jaws, she peered into the land beyond her with thoughtfulness. Strange now, yes, but perhaps her new home, one day.

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The world seems to be a different place in the wake of the famine months ago. It has regained much of its former glory—most of which she does not remember—and there are parts Ksenia does not recognize without the lack of damage. However, the further south she travels, not a thing seems familiar and she can’t help but wonder if she’d gone farther than she had the last time she’d been here. It does not stop her, keeping her forward without the company of either of her companions. They’ve been given a few days rest and solid meals and the world already seems a little brighter; however, the winter is upon them, as evident in the snow beneath her feet. There are still patches of green but the air is cold enough to spark a few flakes and the further up the mountain she goes, the chance seems all the more likely.

Blood catches her attention and she swings her head ‘round to see another not far from her. She’d stumbled upon the other without first noting and her lip lifts in irritation. A growl rumbles in her chest, low, but the vibration steadies her as she takes a step forward with narrowed, pale eyes.

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A scent has her optics flickering quickly to it's source, a woman clad in the palest silver. She does not offer any greeting other than a growl, low and threatening. Talewi knows not what may have caused this, for the mountain is not claimed, neither has she stolen or been anything other than a silent prescence on the mountain. For a moment, she is still, then snarls her own warning, a hint of challenge thrust into the dangerous tone. She is young, but the life of a warrior has been hers, and her nativity lends her fearlessness.

a smear of blood decorates her muzzle still as she holds her ground, fogged orbs narrowed as she makes her stand, not willing to back down, through foolish pride or a sense that she has done no wrong here she does not know.

Ksenia does not think much of the blood on the stranger’s muzzle any more than it entices her. Confusion has brought a look upon the girl’s face and a sneer appears on her own. She may be weary from ravel, even with several nights rest, but the itch has gone unscratched for some time. Her teeth ache to pierce and her pale eyes narrow. The stranger squares herself for the threat all the same and Ksenia, like a lion, stalks a half circle forward as if she’s testing the patience of the other.

Still, the beast does not lunge forward. She waits, then moves a little closer, and then waits again. Come, she urges as another quiet growl make itself known.

she moves with a leonine grace, the silver woman, and it is not difficult to assume that she is a warrior. Still she does not flicker in her steadfast stance, watching carefully the other. An invitation, she realizes, not of the generous sort, but one to strike. And the girl obliges in a single moment, lunging forward, teeth bared as she seeks a hold on the other's throat, the most predictable move that she can make. At the last moment, however, she surges upward and seeks instead a grip on the other's muzzle, eyes gleaming with the joy of a battle. and yet, her attack far from lands; instead the other turns tail and is gone, where or why she does not know, but leaves her watching the retreating form as it disappears among the rock.