Whitebark Stream You make my heart feel like it's Summer.

they are many, now; she's not quite sure when that happened. out of untouched snow; paths have sprung up, dens and caches and borders. her responsibilities have quite suddenly tripled, though she finds she hardly minds. she'd lingered that afternoon by the freshly-dug catch, conversing casually with whoever might stop by, though to her disappointment had failed to encounter the member she found herself most keenly interested by.  

evening finds her on the border, a failed hunt leaving her winded, with an odd kind of energy that has her adopt a quick lope. fortune is on her side, perhaps, for as she veers back toward the border, panting, (she'd managed to stray into the maplewood, lost in her thoughts) she spots a familiar golden-touched figure. 

she chuffs, a low, warm greeting; and slows as she approaches. the huntress falls into step beside him, brushing against his shoulder in easy greeting as canting her head slightly, as if to ask, "well?" grin curves her muzzle, and she asks, "had to fight off any trespassers, yet?"