Hoshor Plains blood will spill into the gutters and it will stain the morning sun

The morning found her restless when she woke, slipping from her husband's side silently, for she'd been meaning to travel south in search of prey. The pack had been working diligently since arriving in late summer to assure the caches were stuffed to burst; they would not be starving through the winter. Still, the leader thought it wise to keep an eye on the herds. If an opportunity presented itself they would hunt.

The sun peaked over the mountains at her back as she descended to the steppes, the soft lavender of dawn marred by the gentle gold light at the western edge of the horizon. 

A chilly breeze whipped her coat, which had grown in thickly in response to the changing seasons, and dew soaked her paws as she traversed the waving golden grasses - the land familiar to her at this point. 

The plains had been the home of a great horde of bison - or so the rumors said - more than a thousand head. The number itself was unimaginable to Liri, she could not picture such a mass of brown shaggy coats and small black horns. She imagined the noise alone was reminiscent of a beehive or flock of seabirds along the Coast - an uproarious gathering that could be heard from afar. 

The buffalo had dwindled to only about fifty head, a herd mostly consistent of mothers and their nearly matured young from the season before. Some were pregnant again, their bellies swollen as they grazed with yearling calves at their side. A few young bachelors clung to its edges, shunned by the females. They'd likely been weaned recently and were of an age where they were expected to find a herd of their own - a herd of males - but they were young and likely afraid to leave home just yet.

Liri stalked slowly through the grass, the healing gouges along her back tugging painfully as she moved. They were nearly healed yet they still pained the sylph on occasion. 

She settled comfortably atop a knoll, chocolate eyes watching the group from afar.