Flycatcher Downs until we go down

along the ridge mona traveled, curiosity driving her outward to fetch herself a hunt. curiosity, and, she supposed, necessity. bearclaw valley was home to several young ones, the least of these not indra's own. and while she found the she-wolf to be a friend, tadec and the one called laurel would tend indra now.
that left her as huntmistress, mona decided, determinedly following the scent of deer and rabbit along the narrowing landscape. the wind brought to her movement; the mayfair lifted her pert head to regard the beauty of cream and gold moving slowly through the green ocean. 
suddenly starved for company, and not caring in what form it came, the little firebird lengthened her gait and loped toward the petite woman, pausing only when her murkwater eyes caught the sight of the vibrant emerald in the other's own visage. 
somehow familiar; mona felt the words pushed from her tongue, and merely stared for a long moment.