Hushed Willows whomping willow

Trotting down further south, now, Isabella had moved on from the grotto, her target now focused on the willows in front of her. Pushing through the treeline, the scent of ocean air and salt mingled with the humidity, the warmth. It was like she had entered a rainforest of sorts, transported, almost, from the taiga.

The willows ebbed back and forth in the breeze, swaying. As their leaves rubbed against one another, Isabella drew forwards, the grazing of the greenery almost sounding like hushed whispers. It wasn't uncomfortable, though. No, it was beautiful. The environment was lush. Lively. Isabella padded carefully through the territory, scents riding the winds from every which way.

A vole scampered in the undergrowth, and the girl dashed forwards, fangs piercing the small creature. Another snack. She'd had a rabbit a few days ago, and she was getting hungry again. Perhaps there'd be something bigger, meatier, nearby.

So, sniffing the air, she continued, following a prey scent.