Whitebark Stream out of the heart of the spring.

AW, tracking #8 (target: opossums, imaq will not be spotted)

With the afternoon, Imaq found herself trekking from the plateau of ice once more -- a habit she was tending towards more often these days. Perhaps it was an invigoration of the warm season, perhaps it was the duty she felt to her pack now that it was set to grow larger in the summer -- or maybe it was nothing more than her hidden anxieties regarding her own season. 

She tried to ignore that it hadn't come yet -- tried not to fear when it would. And she tried not to worry about if it never would. 

Her best coping method seemed to be burying herself in work around and beyond the Glacier, her escapades often keeping her away well into the evening and finding her returning to the Glacier filthened, with hard-won game clasped in her spotted jaws. Such was how the spotted she-dog found herself descending into the neutral lands just south of Wintersbane's claim, to the small woodland of aspen and the chilled Stream that gave the forest its name. 

Within the woodland, Imaq found herself crossing the tracks of some small creature -- its footprints oddly shaped, like nothing the northron had ever seen before. Imaq trotted after the path of footprints curiously, intent on discovering what kind of creature she'd come across.