Lion Head Mesa a-weema-weh

she pressed her muzzle further in the gap, until the stone began to cut against her face. the boulders were unyielding; withdrawing, she began to scrabble at the cleft with her paws in one final effort. when this failed to shift anything in the slightest, a brief investigation around the boulder in question was made. it was ultimately made clear that she would be unable to reach the source of the scent, in the least, not today. 

and so her attention returned to Virtute, who's life she'd rather taken a shining to. all this was his; with him she never wanted for something still-warm from the hunt, and from him radiate a kind of quiet confidence she found intriguing. and so wordlessly the pup began to mirror him, side-eyeing him as she sought to groom herself with the same long strokes.