Iktome Plains you mean like all the cool kids with their leather jackets and their pickles.

Poe had been quite the homebody for the past couple of weeks since joining the Redhawks. She'd needed the time to recover her strength, as well as to contribute as much to the pack as she could manage. She had a promise to keep, after all. But that was not the only one she needed to keep, so she had set out early that morning to spend the day hunting once again for the Willows and her wayward brothers.

She'd made good time. It was approaching mid afternoon when she found herself on a wide, flat spanse of ground that seemed to stretch out in all directions for miles. The Ostrega frowned a small frown and then sighed a large sigh. No willows for miles and miles. No brothers either, for that matter.

There was, however, the scent of prey. The air wasn't terribly cold, and the ground was merely dusted in a light layer of frost - likely kept warm by the ocean she could smell and hear not all that far off. There was a hint of a chill on the wind that warned her that snow was coming, but Poe figured she had some time to kill still before she needed to turn back and return to the Plateau. So, dipping her muzzle to the ground, she began to trot a weaving path around the frosted bunchgrass, tracking the scent of vole that was littered all over the vicinity.