Silver Moraine tell me, mockingbird

cameo! I can have her be a passerbyer if three is a crowd just ping me! she’s skippable for now!   

As her season approached, Tikigâk had taken to the Moraine for its proximity to the man that often occupied it. His ways were not dissimilar to Tartok, who ranged beyond their claim to protect grounds they called their own for the hunting. But it was only him she had noted—all for the better. Tikigâk had grown less tolerant to others as of late the closer her season came. 

Faust had returned, and Tikigâk tracked him without difficulty. When she heard the voice of another, her stride lengthened. She could smell no stress or anger or fear upon the wind, and so moved without haste—but there was purpose in her step.

She did not come too close. Business here, not her own. But she lingered in the backdrop, not a threat but a promise of violence should he misstep. For that singular step taken toward Faust, two were taken in their direction. 

It did not matter that he could protect himself, handle himself—Tikigâk knew this well. She had drawn nearer only to better see it done. But were she called upon, Tikigâk would not mind the solidifying of their bond in teaching lessons that very well might need to be learned. 

But her eyes also sussed out the man before the Kaan. A rival, perhaps? Had he come for her scent? She had not heard the words, caught by the howling wind.

Time would answer that.