Big Salmon Lake runaway

The frostmaiden halted, pale fur ruffling in the breeze as she fixed the vulture with a hard, silent stare. Its shriek scraped against her ears like stone, but she did not flinch. Instead, her head dipped just slightly, voice low and even; like ice cracking under pressure.
„Bicker once more and I'll scatter your feathers to the lake wind.” A growl, deep and low, rumbled from her throat. She took a single step forward, her presence looming like a cold front, unshaken and unmoved by feathers or fuss. Normally, the clamor of birds wouldn't have grated on her nerves; but today, she'd wandered in search of quiet, of solace. And this was how the world chose to answer.