Silver Moraine the right clothes and the right appearance

sivaak's gaze tracks the distant herd, crimson eyes narrowing as she takes in the scattered shapes. her breath fogs the air in a slow exhale, tension coiling beneath her skin like a drawn bow.

when she speaks, it is sudden and cold like the ice she is bred from. we split the herd.

strange girl, you take the flank. keep them from circling back. moon girl, you push with me. when one breaks, we cut it down. fast. no mistakes.