Moonspear fires

sHRIEKS I SUCK

Tonravik moved in his direction, nose to the ground. She sniffed heartily and thought she might have smelled something familiar, but could not depict who it belonged to as it mingled with ash, upturned earth, and then some. Her nose was something she prided herself on; she could pick apart the scent of anything, differentiate one thing from the next. But this had become what the scent was, now, to form something new and disastrous. There was no telling or picking this apart to the degree she desired... his sneeze brought her to, and she lifted her head abruptly. Her own nose twitched and she snorted, expelling soot from it and shaking out her ruff. She shifted to nudge him. He had done well with the find... but it was not enough to come to a concrete conclusion that those lost had survived this.