Felltree Marsh aqpuk ⋟

forward date?

the white bitch arrives on freshly bloodied paws. they sink into snowy earth and leave in her wake equally as bloodied prints, and she paints a trail.

she does not care who follows.

her return to the taiga is one without ceremony. no familiar faces to greet her, as all had fled like vacuous weaklings often did. this was of no circumstance to the great mind of the muradoii.

what is of circumstance to her is the scent of a fresh kill. the well-endowed hunter swifts her heft in the direction of it and rides up a rise of hill. she sees in the distance a large male stripping a seal.

she licks at her chops as pupils dilate to predatory pricks. assessing. thinking.

she does not care for the even smaller figure in the distance, ignoring her completely.