Qeya River i can kill with my own hands

Kaster had not been too far off, having woken up not too long ago but not emerging from his den just yet. After a while of watching the rose-kissed sunrise creep upon the horizon however would he finally decide to step foot out, glacier blues squinting at the early rays which brushed his vision.

Pheobe must've been nearby as well -- somewhere, somehow, wherever the hell she came from -- and seen him leave the den because the hen wasted no time approaching. The sound of distant flapping could be heard on swiveling ears until the weight of talons thumped against the archer's back, causing the muscles in his neck to tense for a moment but relax soon after.

With the owless resting on his back, the two made their way towards the Glacier's borders with the intent to go outside and do some morning hunting -- perhaps even catch something to drop off in the cache upon his return. Though he was quicky stopped by the sight of Wintersbane near one of the outer territories. Kaster paused at first, then pondered a bit before eventually letting out a soft chuff to greet the Tundrian as he approached. The woodlander usually didn't talk to anyone this early in the morning, but he didn't feel like he made much of an effort to familiarize himself with his new pack mates just yet -- so why not?