Redhawk Caldera I never told you what I do for a living

Her spine arched in a feline manner as she drew her core inward, attempting to draw in her figure on itself as she stood shivering. Standing frozen (literally and figuratively) with her ears at full attention, she listened for anyone returning her call. Only the disappointing whip and whistle of the torrent winds. Radio silence. A snort harshly blew from her snout, her dark brows frosted with icy flakes furrowing. She was royally screwed.
 
The Mackenzie was turning around to wander back into the pallid abyss, to walk until paws would become frostbitten and she would be swallowed by the winter until an ear swiveled back to catch a distant voice. She thought it first as the delusion of a voice inside her head as she was sleep-deprived, recovering from being poisoned not too long ago, and losing the bulk of weight she worked so hard to gain after the summer.
 
The voice was closer. Her head was at attention, silver eyes squinting in the flurry of white until a faint figure of black and red could be seen. Immediately Zsuzsa knew it was no Saint, although her nose couldn’t discern who the other was in this blizzard. She didn’t care at this point. “HEY!” She barked. “Here, coming to you!” Zsuzsa announced, the wind drowning her words, but sifting through the snow to meet the other. The cold left her breathless, a cold so sharp in her esophagus and so stinging in her nostrils.