Whitebark Stream when that strange shape drove suddenly betwixt us and the Sun [mtr.]

she is content, then, slumbering as snow falls all around. their claim is solid; in time, they will get to know one another, they will grow together, the seasons will turn and they will prosper. her dreams are idle, tired, she sleeps long and deep until the barest light of dawn begins to play upon the snow, rousing her gently and then all at once. 

buried as she is beneath the snows, the scent is hard to miss. it takes her a moment to identify it, groggy as she is, and with the recognition comes a brief flash of panic. it is soon, and sudden; she ought to have more time. last year, last year had been later, she ought to have weeks, months. the leader pushes out of the snow, springing forward before trotting a tight circle, sniffing her rear. 

there is no mistaking it, she knows the scent, know the feeling. doubt, then—is she right to try this all again? she remembers the unbearable pain, the loss. but too the joy, the easy happiness and the way it had felt good and right. she stills, then, considering.

her doubt fades, replaced with a knowledge of what she wants—who she wants. the huntress wheels and adopts a swift trot, searching for a scent, a trail, and issuing a low, soft call for @Artyom when she thinks him near.