Broken Antler Fen last smoke before the snowstorm

A cool determination came over young Quill when she scented her brother on the air.

She turned after the trail immediately; abandoning her half-endured hunt for shelter, as the faint whiff of Tusk's indisputable cologne dictated. She might have called out for him, but thought it might be interested to hunt him down - spy on him a bit, if she could. The unthrifty she-wolf had to suppress the reflex of a smile, as the mere suggestion of a conspiratory nature in her thoughts seemed to be enough to put the grey harpy in a good mood.

Quill hiked in steady rhythm across the frostbitten loam, with a purpose etched illegibly across her features as she abandoned her consideration for the surrounding nocturnal animals, their eerie night-lives, and the strife her carnivorous presence caused them. She had thought she might catch one of them unawares before hunkering down for the night, but bigger and better things had been promised to her in that moment.

Why settle for the worm-diggers and the squirrels with inner ear issues, when she had an entire littermate at her hunting disposal?

Maybe he had caught something recently, and she wouldn't have to work at all. This secondary thought made her quicken her pace, until Tusk smelled very near and she could see his tall, jagged silhouette plodding away from the still-rippling shores of what had surely been very cold fenwater.

Upon observing that he had no goods, and was therefore useless until further notice, Quill barked out his name, and charged headlong into what would hopefully be a greeting spar.