Razorback Ridge you carry the heavens in your eyes

idle scents criss-cross but none that are fresh or lingering enough to warrant melkor putting forth the effort of tracking anyone down; and even so he won't stray too far from the vale. among the dense trees he picks up scents of mountain goats, too; keeping that in mind for later if any of their hunters sought bigger game than the small woodland creatures that co-exist within the vale. ears cup forth atop his skull at the sound of approaching footfalls too much like his own to be anything other than wolf. melkor is immediately alert, muscles tensing and glacial eyes scanning the trees for where the other might emerge based upon the origin of their path.

it does not take long for her to appear; a shadow cloaked woman smelling of a pack, though not one he could immediately place. melkor releases a low, raspy chuff of greeting.