Permafrost Hollows salut i força al canut

Her image was obscured and fractured amongst the limbs of the lowland pine — and just so, she remained unespied. As far as the beast in front of her, she remained entirely unconcerned and gave a languid pursuit; her heart did not quicken, nor did the needlelike fur bristle and rise upon her serpentine rachis. It was but a wolf, more of a nuisance that needed to be monitored than an actual threat. Still, smokescreens were her nature and she melded tactfully into the background, every muscle and every hair artfully orchestrated into something so smooth and fluid it was almost invisible to poor canine eyes. Perhaps the only thing that might have given her away was the tail, pale and dancing against the vividly of their alpine milieu.

The brute was exceedingly nervous and when he began racing, the apparition returned the gesture. Her footfalls padded silently against the earth, moonbeam eyes carefully trained on the haunches of the wolf, given some concern by his erratic behavior. She welcomed many in her lands, including her canine relations — they were not her competition, as she was too far above for comparison — but he was threatening the sanctity of her lowland hunting grounds. Nearly all her prey chose the wooded summit rather than her own snowcapped elevation, and he threatened it all with his racket. He was becoming her competition, all upon his own spooked volition. 

Her presence needed to be known. 

The wolf slowed and she pulled ahead, slowing her momentum with several lagomor[hic bounds. As if a switch had been flipped, the apparition came into view and the gold of her being glinted in the dappled noon sun. For a moment, Majorca stood so still it was almost as if time had suspended — but then the paw, hovered ominously above the leaf litter, placed itself softly and through barely parted lips she spoke. “Benvinguda. Deixar tot com està.” her voice was viscous and honeylike, thickly accented and spiced with sibilant flicks of the tongue. Majorca’s voice was an underutilized weapon — so solitary was she, so rarely did she encounter others, that her voice was largely mute. Sooner would she decamp, propelled not by fear but an aversion in inanity, than engage in discourse with any craven; especially this craven, who ruined her carefully cultivated hunting grounds as would a bull in a china shop. Majorca again froze and remained unmoving, prepared to react quickly. He was welcome here, and if the wolf heeded her words [as nonnative as they were] he would not be harmed.