Bearclaw Valley Green, green thunder and the loud, loud rain

More appear. A pale one, another mottled in shades of russet and charcoal, just like her; and there are voices. Man. Woman.
There is something about the mottled one that Athalia finds familiar, and she cannot quite place what that is.
Sister finds their presence troubling, but by contrast, Athalia is intrigued. She gives a low whine to the dark-pelted woman and searches the fur along her cheek with flicks of her tongue. Hi! Hello! Hi!
She pries free from Amneris and springs out into the open in one sudden jolt, meeting the mottled man's leg with the crown of her head. Where's their mom, he asks; Athalia pries for his attention and begins to shake her head no. No mom. A lie, blatantly, but he did not know that — did not need to know that. Her lips curve into a toothy, eldrich grin.
She did not like mom. She liked him.