Northstar Vale Yestertempest

The icy drizzle did little to hinder Calliope’s trek across the mountain. Her silvery-white pelt, plush and thick from winter’s approach, was ruffled by the frozen wind that blustered past from time to time. She was not deterred by the inclement weather, but having lived upon mountains for most of her life thus far, she was privy to take her time when the ground was made slick.
 
Her sense of smell was compromised somewhat by the thick moisture within the air, but her eyes roved the unfamiliar terrain relentlessly. When she spied movement up ahead, Calliope crept forward cautiously, ears turned forward atop her svelte skull. Through the foliage in front of her, she could begin to make out the form of a large, bronze-colored wolf. His scent struck a dim chord of remembrance within her, but it wasn’t until his scarred face flashed into her line of sight that her assumptions proved true.
 
Intent on putting him on edge, Calliope growled lowly in his direction. She waited with baited breath to gauge his reaction.