Larksong Grotto by starlight

white raven creeps through snowdrifts, a ghost against the skyline. morwenna has been kind to her. winsook has healed her wounds as best they can. still her neck aches deeply, muscle torn through by wolf's teeth.

morwenna does not want her out alone. the healer woman, too, has advised against it. but she can only tolerate entrapment for so long. she is of the wild, meant to feel the sky at her back. and so she slips away unnoticed when the time is right, just for a brief walk to clear her mind. the wind shifts, then, and she pauses. an unfamiliar scent. male, and not winsook. not blackfell, either.

she does not call out. she does not warn. ishmira hurtles silently over the snowdrift, jaws open in a c-shape as she shoulders the boy to the ground. standing over him, breath leaving her mouth in clouds of frost.

"this is not your land." she spits, one paw pressed firm upon his chest.