Northstar Vale set your soul at ease

Pipit descended into the valley in awe, as she was with most things. Winter wonderlands were not new to her, but a bowl in the mountains was not something she had observed before, and she dipped into it eagerly. It was unfortunate that she was met by the scent of a pack, threatening to send her skittering back into the cliffs, but the scent was paling, thinned gingerly by time and cold winds. This bit— the vanishing pack border— intrigued her deeply, driving her further into the vale rather than from it, feeling eager to discover the mystery behind the ghost wolves of the snow bowl.

A figure, mostly black and quite visible against the blanched background commandeered the fawn bird's mis-matched gaze. She picked up a cautiously quick trot through the drifts to meet the wolf, who became a she once her scent finally touched her over the stabbing, bitter air. She wagged her tail when she was within twenty yards of the wildling, gauging how approachable the dark fae was.