Shadow Mountain hunted down

Fiona pulled herself up the mountain to the northeast, sinewy muscles churning through the hard-packed snow as she gained elevation. She had spotted cloven hoofprints on her sweep of the hollow's border, and she tracked them now, leading up and away from the place she had called home for some time now. The space between the prints was small, leading her to believe it was goat that made its path this way, and she was quite certain it had a limp, based on the pattern.

The witch stopped for a beat, glancing behind her and down into the valley where Anselm no doubt pouted about something and the young girl was likely still suffering from her head injury. The woman with which Anselm had coupled with appeared to be gone, though whether temporarily or permanently, Fiona did not know. She hoped it was the latter, if only because this was no environment to raise children. She did not imagine that Anselm would be a good father.

She was not a wolf of the mountains, but that did not stop Pukei from trying to ascend their peaks – much to her own peril. She had chosen one of the smaller ranges, figuring it's lack of height would afford her some small comfort in the form of less snowpack, but the ground was still frozen and the slippery rocks threatened to send her tumbling off the cliffside. Curiosity, however, spurred her forward, and she figured the view at the top would at least give her some idea of the lands she found herself in.

Unknowingly, the girl followed in the pawsteps of the stranger, and remained oblivious until the scent became too strong to ignore. There was another, too, but not of wolf – raccoon? What was a raccoon doing so far up the mountainside? Interest piqued, Pukei directed her course at a steady trot to beeline straight for the woman until her dark form came into view up ahead.

Fiona still had not seen Prowler since she had come to the hollow, though her brief visit to their last meeting place had been assurance enough that her familiar was safe. The witch had rolled in the scent of the bandit and left tufts of her own fur behind so that the raccoon would know she was safe. It was no wonder she likely still smelled of the small creature.

Behind, footsteps made Fiona pause and turn around to see not Anselm, the woman, Etienne, or even Javalina approaching, but a stranger. As she neared, the witch noted that it was a woman. She tensed, knowing that this place was no good for women. Unless, of course, they enjoyed a game of cracking a case of an angry closeted man.

Yes? she said when the other was near enough. Chit-chat was not her specialty unless it involved a particularly interesting case. Recruiting was also not something she was planning on. The small group of disfunctional wolves living in the hollow was not a band one could call a pack.