Little Goat Mountain I love the mayhem more than the love

her den had served her well here- it was a very small nook in the stone, but perfect for her who stayed here alone, and did not have to worry about unwanted company upon waking. she had developed a habit of saving bits and pieces from her kills to decorate the place; despite the thought that mira might not be one who cared much for frivolous decor, she did indeed. why shouldn't a queen rest on soft comfortable bedding? and she would line the floor with goat pelts, and occasionally bring back cleaned bones too, which she stuffed in the back of the cranny.

she had set out this morning to get her legs moving and potentially hunt once more, when the air drifted to her with the scent of wolf. a female a little younger than herself. mira was not often one who investigated strangers- often she preferred silence over chatter- but lately new instincts had been driving her. the desire to ensure her home would be absolutely safe, even it was not to be hers forever. 

and so she pursued. 

pace casual, no hurry, but she made her way over grasses and scattered stones until up ahead, her gaze locked onto a dark figure. in a way she looked a lot like mira from here. 

and so she watched from here like a vulture, standing still without initiating greeting. waiting to be noticed or left unbothered, but alert at all times.