The woman had made it past the pack; with her life intact. Now, back to her hunting.
She put her nose to the ground and started to shovel snow from her path, hoping some scent was still held there. No, there was no scent, but there were tracks. There were tracks moving west -- not her quarry -- but there were smaller tracks heading East. That was what she wanted. The snows had come before she started on the mountain, she couldn't be too far behind.

She listened intently, what could she find here? 
Rabbits: they would be under the snow and white. Hard to catch.
She'd seen foxes hunt, they dive under the snow. And great owls used their power to punch under the snow. Now, she would adopt that to hunt for herself now.

Stealth. She silently passed over the ground and cocked her to listen. She had not the great ears of ones designed to hunt from under the snow with sound, but she had the cunning. Listening, silence.
There was a squeak, a rustle, and the sound of movement under the snow. She stopped, poised to launch head-first. Another rustle told the huntress that her quarry was close. Closer it got.
She reared up and forced her way down into the snow, paws first, and caught a lemming under her paws. Forcing her head down, she caught the small body in her jaws and crunched. She brought her head up and threw her head back, eating the success quickly.

Casting a wary gaze about, she wondered if anyone else knew how to hunt like that; and realised she wouldn't mind teaching the method to a competent student.

He is beginning to regain some semblance of strength, both physical and mental. He is not the sturdy gilded oak of the past, but perhaps, with time, he will get there. For now, he focuses on building himself up again, brick by brick upon a castle ruin. He will learn and grow, learn and grow. And with the knowledge that Ceara is safe, he further heals.

The smell of her dashes these hopes away, like sun through mist. His lips curl upward immediately, his eyes blazing cold fire. Her. The hostage-taker, the Blackfeather bitch.

He cannot act alone. He retreats into the shelter of a nearby rock formation, the shadows falling across his pelt, and he watches her for several long moments. He cannot act alone. His body will not take it, and Hydra will be furious with him. As much as his blood boils and his body aches to take her down, he must hold himself in check.

Instead, Llewellyn thrusts up his head and calls for @Hydra, for @Revui and @Arcturus, and all else who wish to shed wicked blood this day.

 

She heard the brewing hellfire before she smelt that wolf. She would never forget his scent. 
And he was baying for her blood. 

Swiftly, she started off, carrying herself over the snow and avoiding the softer places where she would sink. She wouldn’t look back, because to look back would mean death; and Flicker Vaidya was not about to die, not today. 

The frozen air filled her lungs like glacial water, the icey coating of the snow bit into her pads like bee stings. The ground was rough, but if she could just get somewhere where the snow wasn’t so collected, she could leave them trailing. 

She’d gone close to the pack, sure, but she took every precaution to very respectful and to stay hidden — she also moved quickly. Like a spy.
Shit. Her paw hit a softer pile of snow and sunk, causing her body to tumble down for a moment. Although she was up in half a second, was she quick enough?

He will not strike immediately; to do so would be folly. He instead trots slowly the direction she runs, waiting for the others to join him. Hydra returns his call, as does a young voice--either Arcturus or Revui, he presumes. They have been largely silent in his time here, so he does not recognize the tone. They are coming.

Llewellyn breaks into the easiest of lopes, watching the Blackfeather woman stumble and fall over the ground. She does not know this place as well as they do: they have the advantage. Still, he cannot get cocky.

He throws a quick glance over his shoulder, searching for his war party.

There was one upon her already, snarling and nipping. The fire-graved woman rose up with jaws wide and clashed them together again next to her attacker; missing. Her back legs were pushing up, forcing her forward but she was quickly downed again. Releasing a snarl of her own, she had no choice but to settle into a brawl. 

Turning her ivories again on the dark shape, she sought to attach to anything, a leg, a shoulder; hell even a tail would do. But the sound of another, larger than the first, was fast approaching. The golden man? She released a guttural snarl, attempting to ward off her attackers.

He is joined at last by his packmates, and with a sigh of relief, he surges forward, racing after Hydra, who is first into the fray. The dark woman has taken advantage of the Blackfeather's stumble, and he joins her in this objective, galloping 'round to the other side. With this, he hopes to corral the woman, with Revui and Arcturus to seal all other gaps. Let her try and escape, now.

Why have you come here? Llewellyn snarls, eyes shooting daggers at the rogue. He looks at Hydra, face contorted in fury. This is a Blackfeather wolf. She chased me, and did me harm, when I went to rescue Ceara. She is complicit in their treachery.

At this point, he does not know what he wants. Ceara is safe, and life is back to normal, for the most part. But this? This just seems an affront, her coming so close to his home. There must be a reason; Blackfeather Woods and Moonspear are not neighbors by any stretch of the imagination. She came here for some reason--perhaps of her own will, perhaps as a pawn. Why?

The woman kept low, baring teeth at the wolves. The held onto her, two males large and unforgiving. She glared at them with venom as their teeth latched onto her, feeling flesh ripping slightly but she held fast, looking up to the dark female.
She posed a question.
Why are you here

She merely let her lips writhe up, but that was all. They were not to know of her agenda and that of Blackfeather. She started to twist, testing the grip of the males and pointed daggers at the others approaching. Snarling softly at the golden male. He was the problem here; not her.
"Let me go. Now." she spat, every word laced with a hatred -- hints of fear weaved under the layers of fury. She couldn't let them know she was scared; scared wolves got killed.

"You are not to know of my business. What have I done to you, this is not right!" She surged upwards, trying to pull her way free to sink her own teeth into the black female.

The woman grunted, growling softly still. If any of her attackers made further move to harm her, she made it clear she wouldn't stand for it. She bristled softly and rose up, not wanting to be some pinned, cowering weakling. Blackfeather Woods wouldn't appear as weak. 
"I'm hunting and scouting. No, I'm not scouting your savage pack. In case you didn't notice I gave you the widest birth the mountains allowed." 
Challenge shone in her eyes as she tried to force her way up, trying to meet the gaze of Hydra and Charon. She had half a mind to turn on the two that held her but... it'd prove more useful to face the leadership.
If they were indeed that; the other black female, that looks uncannily like the one before her, seemed more refined and powerful than these. These savages.
Like she could talk.