Nova Peak money, money, money

Whilst the rest of the pack hunted in the neighbouring plains, Bazi was putting the finishing touches on her birthing den. It was a pleasantly cool day - cloudy, with bursts of April showers. The Peak's resident blimp waddled awkwardly to and from her hole in the ground, carrying tiny parcels of dried grass, heather, and strips of skin from older kills. 

The caches were low and many of the dregs weren't worth eating - she scraped the hides clean and kicked the scraps of decaying meat into the Bitcurrent, watching the tiny stream struggle to push the large chunks away. It was certainly no Swiftcurrent Creek.