Sunset Valley Pǎnakär

A long week of ice-storms swept the north. Ayovi emerges from a ragged curtain of trees, pulled by thirst to the compass of light. The huntress dips her head, furred ears turning to scoop from the wind sounds of prey or wolf. She laps at snowmelt and clears her coat, grooming her shoulders of powder before breaking a trail to the center of the rolling hillocks, where the sun gingers forth from a tear in the clouds.
Something ripples beneath her feet— Ayovi pads at it with a paw, silver tail frisking up over her back as she noses the snow.