Ghost Lion Crag And the rain

The two siblings had trekked through enough of the wilds to have grown sick of it. Smokestep was growing anxious with the need to be closer to the coast. He knew that he was destined to reach it – that the smell was a sign that he was drawing closer. But he wasn't listening to his rational mind as much as he should have been. Sandpiper had done well to keep him on track, but he had taken to traveling ahead of her some ways. He had been hoping to catch a clear path to the sea, but instead came upon the scent of an unfamiliar wolf. Impulsive and brash, Kingfisher followed after the scent for a short distance.

The seafarer believed that he had kept himself far enough away from his prey, but he caught the scent of blood in the air and his pace quickened. The rocks tumbled from beneath his paws. His long legs carried him like stilts; each stride was more stretched than the last. It was not long before he came upon the figure of the wolf and the remains of prey that would not remain for more than a few moments.

Smokestep slowed his pace and then finally fell to a stop, not too far from where the stranger had finished her meal. He watched with a mismatched gaze, saying nothing. She sniffed the ground for any remainders of her meal before he lowered herself to the earth to clean her bloodied figure. Still, he watched.