Golden Glade poison or weed

Aitana padded alongside Mictec, her silver-streaked coat blending with the gray shadows cast by the snow-laden sky. The chill in the air didn’t seem to bother her; she wore it like a second skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of her teasing grin.

Despite her usual air of casual confidence, her sharp amber eyes were always moving, scanning the landscape as if every tree and shadow held a secret.

Mictec’s words cut through the stillness, and Aitana tilted her head toward her, intrigued. She snorted. “That’s one way to describe trudging through snow and hoping we don’t freeze to death.”

She stepped ahead slightly, her paw crunching lightly against the snow as she glanced back over her shoulder. “So, what’s the plan, Mictec? You’ve got me out here freezing my tail off—what are we hunting for? New recruits? Food? Or are we just out here contemplating the meaning of life in the middle of a snowstorm?”

She meant no disrespect, of course. Only friendly jest, evident by the glint of amusement in her eyes and the snarky smirk upon her feminine snout.