Lone Star Mountain Who called me by my name and ran

Nonsense, it was lovely!

The hot air that vented from her nose in a slow breath drifted before her eyes like smoke. Up this high, the ground was frosted and the wind chill and biting. The snows would hit here first, she knew. The wilds proper would be free of it for another few weeks, but the mountains would soon be white-capped and glimmering, resplendent in their royal regalia, white-on-grey. There was something truly breathtaking about a proper white-capped mountain. She flexed her toes against the granite underfoot as if she could already feel the snow cupping the warm pads of her feet.

Warbone's chuff would ordinarily have surprised her, jumpy as she was, but her ears shifted back almost lazily as she made a half-turn toward him. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, or the wild beating live and well in her breast, but there was no alarm and no fear. "Did you feel it, too?" she wondered, tilting her snout down slightly to regard him, though he towered over her. Looking down her snout on others was something Saena was accustomed to doing even at her short stature. It came with the territory of leading and it came with being a wolf unable to use a tail to communicate its dominance, and she'd done it for far too long to easily drop old habits. Yet her eyes were neither narrowed nor widened and her ears hung neutrally, hopefully enough to convey no threat.

"The wild sings from so high," she shared, and turned her gaze back to the autumnal vale nestled down below, hugged on all sides by imperious mountains.