Blackfoot Forest patron saint of lightening bolts

She was a hunter by nature.

Gwen could recall countless memories of tracking prey in the wilderness by her lonesome, stalking on delicate paws toward a careless rabbit, who's whiskers twitched in the early morning light. She could recount the times she'd had a pack at her back, wolves surrounding her from each side as they closed in on a herd of grazing elk - she had greatly missed the thrill of the hunt, the wind whistling in her ears and whipping her fur up and around, slick against her head. The ghost had hunted since those wonderous days, but revelled in the freedom of such a wild game? No, not for many moons. She never took her meals for granted, either - after her teeth met skin and the breath faded from her prey, she would duck her petite head and give thanks for the life gifted to her, the energy that now kicked through her veins and allowed blood to pump around her body. All things were connected, were they not? It seemed only right to appreciate what was offered to them. 

...and she appreciated the man at her side. Phex too, and all those who would join them in the safety of the shadewood, not only to survive but to live. The world could cast shadows into their path, but were all shadows bad? No, she thought not. The snow empress tipped her ivory muzzle to the sky, black lips parting to breathe in the frigid air and taste it upon a salmon tongue - despite her hunting experience, the winter was proving already to be harsh and prey were not easy to come across. When Cry wandered off in pursuit of a scent, Gwen was swift to follow, dancing across the snow and emerging at his side when a charcoal stranger came into view.

She remained silent, watching, but watery eyes glittered from their place, and soft ears of white tipped forward on her crown.