Broken Antler Fen a whistler and her gun

It wasn’t a pack, but a tribe she was a part of. The Mackenzie was not familiar with the differences between the two. The tawny female did not elaborate further, leaving the sable hued female to ponder this on her way back to the Strath. There was an air of mystery behind this female from her origins to her accent. Perhaps on a better day, it would have been suitable for further conversation, but it seemed like she had to get back to her tribe. Considering the circumstances of Winter, Zsuzsa didn’t blame her. Everyone needed to keep close quarters to each other during the colder months.
 
Zsuzsa nodded in response to her, giving a small sway of her tail. Letting her take her fill, she did receive one tidbit of information from her: her name was Zola. ”Zsuzsa.” Said in response, feeling it was appropriate to return the gesture. ”Safe travels.” Zsuzsa bid her a final farewell as she watched her depart. The Acolyte devoured what she could before hauling the remains back to the Saints.