Porcupine Ridge precious and fragile things

Climbing was her area of expertise. Being reared on faces like this, and growing on ones more perilous, Tonravik had made it to the point she desired to be at with some effort required on her part. Still, the exertion was nothing to her in comparison to the feats she had accomplished elsewhere, and so she was hardly feeling impressed with herself as she scouted the area below for prey. Tonravik had thought she had smelled something, but as of yet, she could not spot it.

A sound below distracted her, and she moves to seek it. Being that it was downwind, she had not smelled them; and the gray sky above breaks, at last, as a flurry of snow began to rain down upon them. It was slow, and in the current season snowfall was intermittent, but it came now. The white wolf was unfamiliar to her, but she observed him regardless. While it was hardly impressive to her that she had managed the climb, she imagined it would be difficult for anyone else to accomplish it. And yet, here was a wolf who accepted the challenge. Her climb had been an incisive one; analyze the face, seek what you can grab, take it. While many would preclude this mountain from their climb, Tonravik was not so limited in her experience. She was not so great as her eminent mother, but she did well enough. Tonravik waited from above, shifting her weight, eager to see the result of his climb, regardless of whether it was success he met, or failure.