Bitterroot Valley garmr

oooooooo

snow settles in the pale winter fur of ravah, a fine frost tracing the ridges of her spine and the sweep of her plume. miska would find her as she always was; poised, lean, going with grace. working beneath the lean-to of wind-bent pines, the boughs catching most of the falling white as she tends to her work. her craft was refined, taught and passed down from asheer mother to daughter.

her teeth worry at a stubborn strip of membrane, silence breeding as she does so—head snapping back when it finally gives. bracing with toughened paws, her breath ghosting in a stacatto of clouds, one after another. she scrapes, pauses, rescrapes, a cycle that is endless. it is this work she enjoys, which reminds her she is still part of her and sega's people, even with the miles between.

though even ravah cannot help distraction when a strong, masculine scent takes her by the nose. threading through the cold of winter, weaving itself between resin and snow and the faint iron of the doe. he is great sky, familiar from the moose hunt—but that is yet all she knows.

all she cared to know, truthfully. especially with an antisocial streak on the rise, taking her by the throat with pearled teeth and claws. however, those twin silver eyes raise, with ears tilting forward while she remains poised above her project.