Blackfoot Forest you have endured a worse thing

she's at the very edge of blackfoot forest, close to the no-man's-land between it & the valley. maybe @Astara? ;D

the moderate snowfall that ushers in the early afternoon bids azreina to keep to the forest she had sought shelter in for the night. though plunged into deep shadow during the night as she came upon it, in the daylight — even with snowfall — it is enchanting in its own way. though not the best of company the foxes offer her more usefulness as her prey; she's eaten well that morning.

frostbound gaze roves the dusted landscape thinking that of any time, now was the time when she could move without the hopes of being seen. the sky is grey and the snowfall offers the same sort of hazy backdrop as fog ...but she is in no rush to go anywhere and thus, is content to continue lounging beneath the shade of a towering evergreen tree; head resting against her front paws.

leaving the fishbowl at a prowling clip, astara ranged the hinterlands neighboring. a dark omen had visited her that morning -- the presence of a dead crow at the foot of her den. its little claws were crooked and curled onto each other, the beak grotesquely open -- the eyes sightless. astara knew averna would have known implicitly of the omen's meaning, but astara was a beast of the mortal world and instead, ranged to put her mind at ease.

she scouted for fox, for easy prey -- but eventually, found herself following the faded and snowcovered scent of a wolf somewhere within the evergreens.

against the snowfall, her visibility became restricted. relying on the keenness of her nose, astara bent to the snow and prowled, lurking ever closer to the concealed she-wolf in the pinegrove.

the snowfall is not silent — azreina hears it collect upon the emerald needles of the evergreen over her head, the forest itself is alive with the eerie calls of the foxes; distant and ever seeking — and for this azreina is ever grateful. she is not sure what she could do with beating silence. it's been too quiet since dacio's death; would remind her too much of the silence that followed his last breath, blodreina's last breath, the silence that engulfed what was left of her father's corpse. she is tired of silence. she is ...tired.

despite this, sleep does not come to her. not easily, at least. still, she closes her eyes in the hopes that some brief respite might come to her. just as she lulls into the first tender vestiges of slumber she stirs, ears alert atop her skull as she realizes that there are footsteps nearing. a bit more disoriented than she would like, azreina pushes herself to her paws, shaking dried and dead pine needles from her fur the best she can and peers out of the sparse evergreen; mercurial gaze settling upon an ebony figure drawing ever nearer.

azreina gives a low chuff to announce her presence.

the snow was laden, obscuring most of azreina's tracks.

astara's nose quivered as it worked, glistening as little snowflakes melted along her dark muzzle.

a chuff in the hinterwood sounded -- the blackbird froze, long ears canted forward, working in small circles the location of the noise. her eyes scanned the low hanging canopy of pine branches, coming at last to rest on a figure half-concealed by shadow.

a figure younger than her, but no less impressive. astara had always been one to trust her initial impression of a wolf, and this one seemed hardened for one so young. she strode towards her curiously, tail held at a neutral angle as she attempted to draw in the scents that would tell her more about this lurking ghost in the shadewood.

praimfaya did not let astara close; the lift of her lips was all the ghoul needed to turn and give her a wide berth. she was no fool -- this one smelled heavily of pack animals, and astara had other things to do then die that day.