Silver Moraine on track

Sunday Morning heard the other before seeing them, or even smelling them. They had the advantage, thanks to the wind. Sunday's ears cupped backward as she moved, listening. Many had passed her by, as she had them. Crossing ships in the night. Sunday did gaze over her shoulder, though, when the sound of the other drew nearer.

Red Woman!

Sunday Morning slowed at once, tail wagging meagerly and head low.

But the greeting voice was different. And other things, too. Sunday Morning noted the furs, the stone-hued (in the light where she stood) chest and tail. Their eyes, too, she noted as her gaze passed the others fleetingly, averting to show this was no challenge. Like riverwater, she had observed. And the red furs were also distinct; she could compare it to ultisol, had she the name for it. A passing thought. They looked as she had become during her long travels, and yet held a presence about her that somehow made her larger. A wild looking woman.

This one, in name, became Woman with Eyes of the River—Rivereyes.

She loosed a low, inviting chuff, lifting her nose to the sky to taste the wind. Both to track, and show the woman what she was doing; seeking something to hunt, or something to track.