Silver Creek Enfin je saurais où je vais

When she found paw prints marking the dusting of snow that had settled on the ground that morning, she followed them toward the sound of moving water. Quicksilver's orchid gaze lingered on the tracks, curious to know who'd made them and hoping they belonged to an Odolf wolfess.

Pausing among the foliage at a steel-furred figure by the creek up ahead, the sterling yearling lifted her ears and observed the other female quietly. Quicksilver recognised her from the womens' gathering some days before, though did not recall if she'd shared her name. 

The grey she-wolf pressed onward, striding into the shallows before striking at something in the water. Quicksilver stepped closer then, venturing from between the trees and into the open, to flick her ashy tail in gentle greeting. "Impressive," was the compliment she gave, halting to offer the warmest of smiles. While it wasn't expected of the Rosings females to provide like the boys did, surely it didn't mean they had to entirely ignore one's natural instinct to hunt? She continued, her tone hushed this time: "perhaps you could teach me sometime?"