Kintla Flatlands with my boombox over my shoulder

She reached the place soon enough, ravens scattering before her and waiting eagerly in the trees, smart enough to stick around. In the dark and the snow, she didn't catch sight of the other, instead grinning at the ravens before descending on the carcass of a runty mountain goat, which had somehow left it's range and strayed a little too far. Tearing the thing open, noting the peck marks that signified where the ravens had tried and failed to do the same, she began to methodically strip the thing of the choicest bits of flesh, cold blood soon staining her muzzle and chest.