Golden Glade rocky training montage

not since the ritual on acatenango had she seen snow; it stung her paws and clung to her pelt.

she sat huddled around herself as the tithes do. cold seeped into her bones so they felt shardglass and weak; were it not for the pulse of blood moving in her wrists she would appear dead.

the long lope of a predator sounded past. atoztli remained still, dark gaze reaching into the gloom for the nameless figure that stole past.