Hoshor Plains god is a city overflowing with fists

Her right ear falls back the moment something shifts in the air, the crunching of snow difficult to disguise. They aren’t urgent steps, careless and unaware, and for the moment she remains hidden and dark blue eyes focused on the bison ahead. When the stranger’s footfalls change, then shift, both ears fall back against her head and she tenses. By scent alone, it is not Iliksis, but she won’t feel comfortable until she puts her eyes on him but something keeps her from glancing back over her shoulder.
 
She flinches when he speaks and she turns, looking at him. The words don’t mean much to her but his skepticism doesn’t go ignored.
 
“Track,” she says, squinting, hoping it is the right word. She turns her head back and shifts but she doesn’t necessarily find discomfort in his presence. Even Kove wasn’t always welcome close before today but a foreign itch comes along to disrupt her routine. Following the bison has given her an outlet for the extra energy but the new presence adds a strange weight she isn’t prepared for.