Permafrost Hollows salut i força al canut

Eventually, Majorca forsook the ground entirely and leapt freely amongst the upper reaches of the timberwoods. Her capacious form deftly navigated the puzzle work of branches, claws fully extended and gripping into the bark of the thick, norther specimens. She moulded to whatever environment she was in and thrived here just as much as she did on land, as much as she did in the humid, low-lying forests — but the apparition simply liked the solitude of the alpine peaks and was loathe to leave it the thin, chilled atmosphere. 

If she must descend, then she might as well take advantage of her feline capabilities. Up here, she was much less likely to encounter another, of any kind.

The gilded eremite only made it several more treelengths before she was halted by an invisible, yet potent intrusion. It was the scent of another, and it was not something Majorca could simply ignore. Involuntarily did her taut lips quiver, revealing a hint of her pronged ivories. The cat pulled in close to the treebranch, hunching between ductile shoulders, concealing herself incase the other was within eyeshot. 

From above, her moonbright eyes found him — a wolf, a pest.

The canines were more of any annoyance than anything else. They were greedy, taking prey as they pleased with no regard for anyone other than themselves. Only in the respect were they competitors, and only in this respect was she concerned about this brute’s presence. It was determined that she needed to descend and so came her catlike saltation, using limbs to reach forth and grab the land so that she might lightly, silently, alight upon the earth. From there she obscured herself in the shadows on the underbrush so that her form was nothing more than an argent flash of light. Her quicksilver gaze trained on the dog and tail lashed behind her in a devilish manner, observing him completely.