Phantom Hollow my heart is spinning

from the canyon she heads down, traveling with the flow of rainwater as it trickles in a steady stream down the sunspire, overflowing from the torrential rains that plague the wilds. or, at the very least, the areas of the wilds where praimfaya is likely to haunt. she scouts for prey for the canyon offers little other than pronghorn and they are not her ideal source of meat as it took the entire pack to take down. there were rabbits, too; rangy things that she swear tasted like sand. or perhaps that was just because the grit of sand was unavoidable and tainted her catches. for this reason, she tries to avoid the food caches.

she hopes the flatlands offers her something better, something un-sandy.

the scents are waterlogged; musky and damp earth mixed with a scent that only becomes familiar and solid the closer to opalia she draws. opalia! praimfaya calls out to her. there was much — again — she had to catch opalia up on. praimfaya's muscles tense as she catches the scent of the other, hackles bristling as the wanheda draws nearer and sees and hears the movement, the hissing invitation of the cat. ready to fight to protect her kru, praimfaya draws alongside opalia, frostbound gaze cutting and upper lip curling back from her teeth.