Swiftcurrent Creek to be told.

Had she expected a prophetic meeting when she strolled along the borders that day, Jinx might have made an effort to clean herself up. Her snout was stained with blood from a recent catch, a meagre mouse that served to hold off her hunger long enough for her to resume her patrolling. She had flung the creature around, of course, and so there were flecks of its gore on her coat in hard-to-reach places. She hadn't cared, being a wolf and therefore unconcerned with her appearance, but she might have had she suspected who she might meet in passing. No word had come to her of newcomers, and the current pack wolves would all know her for who she was.

When first she caught sight of the dark-furred woman, she thought it was Haunter, and hesitated in her approach. She was unwilling to face the brute and own up to her mistakes. It was only the distinct scent of female that made her move toward the other, and that of Fox which urged her not to attack. As she approached, she made no connection between this woman's bearish form and her family's, nor did she recall that day upon the mountainside when she had defied this one's claim and command.

Her life of late was afloat on a sea of tragedy, such that many of her older memories of a time before Horizon Ridge had been laid to rest. Tonravik was a large black female, with no easily distinguished mark upon her to make her identifiable. Jinx had her black toes, but otherwise, she was a generic white wolf; and so she approached, her bearing suiting her title, and chuffed a quiet, optional greeting, not suspecting that they might know one another from a more bitter time.