Ouroboros Spine v. two feet standing on a principle

AW but for @Raimo, vague about her last thread since it's still open.

The artisan returned to the ring of mountains before midday, the heavens brightening to the off-white of sullied snow as the cloud cover rained down pure flakes -- hiding brother sun from her eyes. It powdered the dove's pelt in ivory freckles, clung to her lashes as frozen plumes billowed from her maw. 

She'd come across no small game to ensnare on her trek back to the Spine but the day was still young and she had news for the domineering shadow at least. Ghostly steps trailed him slowly through the woods as she circled her way up into the forested plateaus, each footfall placed carefully as her ears strained for sound. 

The obsidian woodsman intimidated her, she had no desire to interrupt whatever it was he might doing on the other end of his scent trail. The yearling found herself grateful for the challenge that the new layer of snowfall provided, making the man's sharp musk harder to track, growing faded and half-there beneath the snow. It meant it took longer before she had to report back to him.

All the more difficult that his natural cologne was that of the forest itself, and his endeavors amongst the black conifers. Pine, damp pelts, decaying needles with their pungent sap smell.