Silvertip Mountain i was the match and you were the rock

There were many with his name in the Wilds, but Saena had met none of them, so no bells were rung. She accepted his name silently and continued trailing after him, her tail a rigid line that stretched out behind her and her ears stiff peaks. Her head hung between her shoulders and between her teeth poked her tongue. Though she'd never done a lot of hunting until recently, Saena was the picture of a hunting wolf.

Ciervo seemed to be better at locating prey than she was, for it took him only a matter of minutes to locate a mountain goat. It was shaggy and white, like they tended to be, and its dark horns were short and roughed up. A young male, from the looks of it, and if the state of his horns said anything, he had likely failed in the annual mountain goat rutting. Naturally, Saena didn't know all these things just by looking at it—she had never been so close to a mountain goat, and was more interested in its strange silhouette than in the specific details that made it an ideal target.

Saena slipped into a lower stance, practically creeping toward the goat. For the time being it was oblivious to the pair of wolves that sought to make a meal of it. She glanced sidelong at the Ostrega, giving him the lead since she was the inexperienced one here.