Sawtooth Spire you can try but you can't hide from the big guns

@Sitamat

The Delta carried a small token from the Hollow that butted up against the Spire wolves' mountain range. The foxes that Iqniq had been trailing had met their demise. One, perhaps, to the fire-wrapped alpha's jaws, though this one, in particular, had been broken by the spider's fangs. The tail had a fluffy appearance, despite carnage at one end. A token. A gift.

The sun was dismal this brisk morning, typical autumn weather burrowing cold fingers betwixt long guard hairs. With food came the growth of new tissue and undercoat, the abysmal chill not nearly as severe as it had been upon arrival to the Sawtooth borders. A small wuff called through clenched cutlery, echoing into the little opening of rocks, stream, and sparse trees. The earth was warm in these confines, despite the winds, and the Delta paused to see what personality would emerge from the heated communal den sites.