Boartusk Heights cash, card, or check

The hothead of the fledgelings lingered on one of the ledges that overlooked the misty clearing of La Muerte's lowest level; her forelimbs lay slung over the rock, ice-slicked paws crossed over one-another. Her posture was straightened in an attempt to embody the regality of her bloodline. 

She was people-watching. It made her feel better, watching the servants get around; she would get an occasional glance at emilio and diego, the older youth of the pack, yet stationed beneath. A little part of her wondered if they could be friends, since her siblings weren't cutting it.

Nymph was getting used to being on her own. Making more fun of it. She figured it would help her grow up faster.

Rosy eyes trail lazily over the densite, stuttering a moment as she catches glimpse of a fur she doesn't recognize lounging below. She noticed that there were no eyes on her, mother and father retired to the cave, Paloma likely dealing with a whiny Candela— in other words, opportunity.

She quietly meandered over to the space just above this new shape, and gently shuffled a pebble down, aiming for his head.

quién eres? 

She doesn't care if he doesn't understand.