Qeya River a pack of dogs

"thank you, chief. i won't disappoint you!" his gaze is stern, a reminder of whom she speaks to, and she restrains herself from bouncing with glee. she has muscle, a lithe strength to her earned via months of hardship. she simply has yet to hone it.

blackfell falls in behind them, and she shoots him a grin-- jubilant and warm, as if they are good friends already. his sour attitude and crude demeanor are fatherly, almost.

they will hunt the hooved beasts, she knows.  their blood is potent on the chieftain's breath, and her heart flutters at the prospect of impressing the man in charge. he does not seem the type to offer second chances.