Porcupine Ridge evening

As the sun was setting, Tonravik rose from the rocky outcrop she had remained in during the days. They were hot, hotter than she was used to. Dusk came, and so too did Tonravik, emerging from her hovel in the ground and in time, arriving toward a location that looked... precarious. Tonravik was a woman who embraced challenges, and as she scented goat, she took to this one swiftly. Tonravik was used to hunting exceptionally large game, but had become accustomed to spooking the creatures that lingered upon ridges until they fell to their certain death. It was hit or miss, but she was confident this time around; she was not weak with hunger, and even if she did not spook one, she was sure she could scrounge something up.

The climb was more difficult than she had anticipated. Regardless, Tonravik was a woman who had dealt with far dangerous mountain faces littered in ice seen and unseen. The slightest of noises could set snow in motion. There was not that risk here, and yet she still moved as though there were; it was a force of habit, and one Tonravik would never relinquish. In the end, her carefulness was rewarded. In the distance, they were spotted. There was plenty more to climb until a lovely sight would ever reward her, but the prey she saw would be reward enough should she be able to hunt it successfully.