It was sheer luck that the mountain goat had escaped whatever hunter that had attempted to bring it down, a young and inexperienced lynx if Imaq's nose was not mistaken, but it wouldn't last long judging by the pool of blood that Selkie had found along the bluffs fringing the Glacier. The visible trail of rubied droplets congealing upon the ground led the huntress south, out onto the Taiga and along the stream of glacial water.
She scoured her surroundings for sign of the pallid grazer as she trotted hastily along, tropical optics sweeping left and right for any clues as to where the goat might have gone. It seemed to have wandered away from its herd, likely out of instinct to avoid jeopardizing the survival of its grouping. Imaq was sure that it would be weakened and waning but it might still be on high alert, easily panicked by the sight or sound of oncoming predators. The last thing she wanted was to be gored by a frightened goat.
"...and all around was the bitter arctic cold and the immense silence of the North..."
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