Flycatcher Downs but you lie

you are named after a god-wife? she murmured, her brows drawing together in a micro expression of disbelief. a faint dislike for the woman festered within her chest, but one must remain polite in the midst of a hunt, or else they would doom their fate to a hungry night. good to meet you, dyone, said majorly out of etiquette.

scent on wind grew stronger. dark nostrils flared for a moment, taking in the smells, pale head turning so she may search the air, dawn-hued gaze squinting so she may look for any signs of the deer that traverse through the downs. dark hairs are noticeable upon the snow, and nanuralaaq draws herself closer towards them, neck bending down so she may drink in the smell. two droplets of pale scarlet linger by the hairs ; there is a chance that this ungulate may be injured. a flick of her tail waves over dyone, the other huntress.

look here, snowwoman instructed. it is close - and it is injured, which made it a whole lot easier for them! there was no sympathy that coursed through her veins, no remorse in the hunt, for she knew how it felt to go hungry, and she would not allow herself nor her packmates to experience such a thing again. she stood, now.

follow - but, keep an eye out.