Swiftcurrent Creek The shade

It was almost pathetically easy for Burc’ya to spy the dark wolf among the rapid curls of water, a stranger to sharp raptor eyes. Different from the dark woman in the Maplewood, of the Glacier beyond its boundaries. The kestrel dipped lower, banking his wings to get a better look. Easily, Burc’ya targets the location, locks it into birdy memories, and banks once more to retrieve the beroya.

Simran pushes their way forward a scant few minutes later, the kestrel on their shoulder, curved beak running through the fur behind their ear, plucking a few strands (much to the chagrin of their silver furred master) and taking to the skies again, skimming the head of the Beroya with large curls of his wings. Simran watches him for a moment, before focusing on the wolf in the stream. A curled tail, familiar to them because of the mild resemblance to their own, though theirs was looser, far looser.

Curious, lilac sparking with the intrigue, they gave a low boof, focusing their gaze on this new face.