Dawnlark Plains I don't want this winding up in the wrong hands

— hi it me again

A heady scent had driven her out onto the plains. It was the smell of a herd that had crossed through during the night, the trampled path they tore through a mostly barren landscape more evident to her here than it was further back within the taiga. The distant mountains that bordered the valley were not so distant now, and through the haze of the day Mojave could pinpoint which of the peaks were snowcovered versus not.

She moved along, quite happily at that, trailing in the wake of the herd that was so very long gone. She didn't claim to be much of a hunter, but then again she wasn't out there hunting after prey. It probably would have been a nice to thing to go back and tell Thuringwethil that hey, guess what, there's herds down there... but Mojave was pretty fixed on taking in the sights for the time being.

Pushing her way through a bunch of rather bare looking bushes, she emerged on the other side unscathed and with something else to catch her eye. Another dark figure, one that for a moment she almost mistook as the heda herself. "Hey!" She called out to them, squinting her eyes as she started forward to get a better look at them. Or him, really. It was definitely male. "If you're following after that herd, they're long gone," she continued, though this time a lot quieter than her call for attention.