Tuktu Weir Beaver Birthday

As the frostnight bloomed into a cold and shimmering morning, the browbeaten Harlequin resurrected her traveling spirits and began to scour a herculean weir for any source of rushing water. She could hear the irrigation before her other senses debuted any other detections, and through a curtain of flamboyant pines the lone she-wolf found her compass in the form of an unfrozen river. The woodwitch plucked her way down the chilled riverbeds using the current to dictate her migration despite the lack of a true destination.

She would have ignored the beaver dams entirely if not for the wolfscent reaching her on the low, telltale breeze. Pausing in her saunter to survey the scene, Harlequin saw no wolf but spied the unsuspecting castorids and surmised from her inability to see the predator in question that a hunt was in progress. The shrew stood back in tense rapture  on eager limbs, woefully prepared to take advantage of whatever happened next.