Jade Fern Grove crying spire

Truthfully, the soreness from the hunt days prior drives her north to where the plains make way for forest. The twin peaks of Grey Fangs watch from above, like two stony eyes who's gaze she finds difficult to escape, and even harder to resist.

For although her muscles scream, Fúyáo finds herself yearning to feel the killing rush once again. 

To the sound of running water she trots stiffly, wading until the stream's icy current laps at her unders and a sigh slips from her lips, grateful for the familiar relief it brings. 

A twitch of her nose accompanies a furrow of her brow, though her attention remains on the ripples below. Beast-blood and wolf; a scent unmistakably his. "You are here, Uktark. I can smell you."