Emberflame Ridge Burning incandescently

The wind was not in her favor. And so she could not detect the male in the distance, though he was not terribly far away at all. Saghani continued to sniff and turn her head first left, then right. The winter winds withheld information from her. It was likely fresh snowfall had buried a left-behind carcass... and it was also likely that there was nothing at all to be found. Saghani did away with hope, knowing this to be the most ruthless murderer of all, even above nature and the wild whom, at the very least, would not lie to you. 

The wind rose in its pitch, causing her lobes to flatten atop her head. Standing here any longer would not serve her well. She peered around her and sniffed one last time, and it was only then she caught sight of a grayscale thing a bit of a ways from her. From here, the other color imbued in his furs could not be detected; he matched the bleak landscape well. Bleak, by her own standards. Bleak, by a yearling who truly could not define beauty in any case. The boughs looked tired, here, hanging heavy as though burdened by some thing. Tired of their endless watch, but awake and keeping to it nonetheless, the movement the fine things (the dark-and-entangled branches) left behind in the winter not unlike an exhausted sigh of protest, a relenting: if you must. And in seeing this surrounding him, in taking in this world with him as its centerpiece, her head tilted only just. He himself, alone, was impressive in this, and the parted wood surrounding him beckoned that she look on. She mirrored, externally, his internal sentiment. And instead of moving deeper into this place as she had intended to do, Saghani simply waited. Her impassive features were far from inviting, but neither did they warn him away.