Hoshor Plains Can't be sure when they've hit their mark

The wretch had scurried and scuttled around the plains after the instruction to 'familiarize herself' to the landscape.

Oh, she was familiar all right. Plains here. plains there. Oh! A rock! There was many of those. Its interest never faded, somehow. Envy remained content, excited, even, just at the prospect of a place she needn't vacate after a day. This was hers now, too, and she'd cultivate its wonders, in her own ways. Starting off, she knock off two tasks at once, exploring, whilst also seeking out the herbs of the land, the places with which she'd tend to and take from. 

The air was purer here, in the open, and the land was vast and teeming with life. She'd make use of all of it.

And so, she clambered up rocky slopes and bounded through the soft, dewy grass in the meadows; yet nothing caught her eye quite like the bison this pack stood to corral and protect.

More importantly though, the bison they'd eat, when the opportunity reared its tempting little head.

Oh, she grew restless; and on a different day, she might've gone to snap at the hooves of one of the lumbering old things for a taste of excitement, yet common sense would drag her back down to earth. Tempting as it was, she offered them a wide berth—for most certainly, she'd be crushed underfoot with ease. 

Big thing. Stupid thing. Or maybe not stupid thing. Who cares. That flesh will one day rend from the bones it hoists up, and offer to them a feast worthy of kings. Gimme gimme gimme. 

Going the long way around, she'd spot a figure crouched in the distance, watching, waiting, biding their time. Perhaps they too were trying to strip the skin from the bison with their mind.

Coming closer, she'd scramble over with little unease nor caution, venturing far closer, and offering more trust to one unknown than any sane figure would. Envy stepped forward with a tilt of her crown and a friendly sway to her tail as she strutted about the area, never still for a moment, except to stare. Hey! Watcha doing over here?

She hoped he was another yellowstone wolf. She was preeeetty certain he was. He certainly wasn't the wife she'd been told to seek, but he definitely looked like another of the bison hunters. In contrast, she was beginning to realize that her stature didn't exactly paint the picture of another wrangler. 

She took in the scars which littered his form, a glint of a foul sort of intrigue present in her bleeding gaze as she would stand and rake it over him, admiring not the man, but those beautiful, gnarled wounds from a different time. Oh the stories she wished to hear. Oh, how she wished she'd been the one to mend them, to see them in the bloody glory of their first breaths, such opportunities were an ambrosia for the impish girl.

She wanted to study every inch of that marred face. It intrigued her so—and she didn't exactly do a good job of hiding that fact.