Whitefish River let me breath instead of being taught

Any Morningsider want to help with Katya's hunting trade? Maybe make a friend?

Crisp was the air upon the darkening skies, the hot flares from the summer sun were long gone; replaced with the bitter lure of winter. Elk migrated, their tracks falling upon the riverbank, leaving marks and paths for that of lone predators to follow. Flashing eyes watched, paws of lethal stamina carrying through the trail; pressing upon the tracks left with not even a dull whisper to break the silence. The presence of the huntress was undetectable, the migrating herds afar oblivious to the death that clings to their trails like a shadow.

The prey entered through a land unknown to Katya, and thus, the shadow of death followed her every step. She was still learning the geography of the flatlands, but following the river seemed to be a good place to start. Her travel did not stop there, for where the prey went; so did the predator. She was smart and with such, her hunt was calculated in her head. She would not outright attack without a plan, and her mind was deep enough to construct two or three should it go wrong. She was a ghost, the half-light giving her silver-blue pelt an ethereal glow, autumn snowflakes glistening like diamonds on her pelt.

The herd was far ahead by now, the newly-come Morningsider traveling along the tracks with a crawling anticipation. There was no fear upon her sharp features, her head was held aloft with radiant confidence. Still, she frowned, halting her pursuit. Hunting elk alone was a dangerous risk, especially for a wolf of her stature. Remembering Grayday's words, and her promise to herself to become more integrated with the pack, she tilted her muzzle upwards, inhaling before calling out to her pack in a low, melodic howl—for the first time in moons, eager at the prospect of a hunting partner.