Blackfoot Forest the woods are lonely, dark, and deep

Hahaha I do that a lot <_________> HELLO KUMUBUTTS

The large woman pressed on through the wood, pausing here and there to sniff at the trees. There was nothing notable, nothing that interested her. She was not hungry enough to humor expending energy on hunting a hare, and so Tonravik was at a loss of what to do. Without a land of her own, there was little she could.

It was midday, and the Tartok woman moved along the line of crepuscular rays that filtered through the trees. The chill in the air did not bother the woman made for Winter, who preferred the cold to anything else in the world. Although she preferred keeping to the shadows due to the natural camouflage it afforded her, she moved that afternoon without regard of that. The forest was bare of most everything, company included.

Not that she needed it. Tonravik was not an entertainer by any means, or a conversationalist.

It was belatedly that Tonravik caught wind of the scent of male, and her head swung in the direction the breeze had brought it from. The wolf before her was one that she found substantial by means of appearance; he was not small or slight or lean, but neither was he bulky. Tall, but strong. Her ears are unmoving and perked, listening while she watched for any signs of aggression or interest more than, well, that of a wolf moving through. Tonravik herself expressed neither.