Silvertip Mountain rock

A play of light in the dappled wood had her eyes falling from scenic drop nearby to physical, sentient being. Wolf. The low rumble was met with a bristle, and intrigued though Tonravik was, her patience was tested by the others emitted sound. This was her rock. And so Tonravik turns toward the other, her long-legged stride full of the power she possessed. The mountain seemed to plateau here, and so there was nothing to ascend.

Lost? She asserts, her dark, murky brown eyes far from warm despite their earthy hue. No, another attribute given to her from her mother was how very frigid she could become; to this pale wolf, perhaps the blistering cold of her eyes could remind the other of her own home. Tonravik settled things in a physical manner, and was quite prepared to. It was clear by her stance and her display that this would be hers, and it may as well have been already. This is mine.