Hushed Willows cause he can't compete with a man like me

The soft crunch of dirt and frost underfoot was the only sound for miles, broken occasionally by the muted snap of a twig or the rustle of something small and unseen in the brush.

The girl’s scent was different now after two weeks of trekking, stripped of the sea and replaced by the forest, by the wear of days spent following Sivaak’s unrelenting pace.

Sivaak paused, lifting her head to scent the air. Her breath curled into the fog, her sharp nose twitching as she caught faint traces—hoof, musk, the faint tang of sweat. The trail was old, but the quarry was ahead. Her ears flicked toward Sobeille.

“Tracks lead west,” she rumbled out. She turned slightly, crimson eyes gleaming through the mist as they fixed on the smaller wolf. Then, a twisted, knowing smile. "Strange girl take over."