Sheepeater Cliff Don't shoot love, baby

“Where's that?” she asked, keen to hear whether the pale bitch came from the forest of crows or not. Her encounter with the hybrid on their borders had been full of false pleasantries. She'd left with a sour taste in her mouth unlikely to be washed away by even the most meticulous of cleanses. She didn't want meat nor fish, not with strangers so near. Ouroboros Spine could sustain itself indefinitely, but that didn't mean the Endore, made nervous already without others to contend with, liked their presence at all.

When asked if she was lost, the female allowed herself to relax just a smidge as she returned with, “Nah. I like to walk.” She was the nosy sort, and finding out new things was sort of a pleasure in life for Ptarmigan. She wasn't exactly the scholarly sort, but rather, the meddling sort. Ivev was unfortunate to have stumbled upon her, if the white female wasn't too carefully guarded with her words and secrets.