Sleeping Dragon In the merry month of June

The sun beat down on her back and shoulders as Wildfire crept along the riverbank, seeking the muskrat whose scent filled her nose. She tracked it to a thick growth of cattails but saw no sign of the animal itself. Licking her chops, the trapper lowered her belly to the ground, pushed her head among the weeds and scanned the nearby water. She then settled in for a wait, possibly a long one.

Her patience paid off when movement in the water caught her attention. Wildfire stiffened but did not move, amber eyes watching as a small head popped to the surface. The muskrat made a line toward the shore and her muscles tensed. When it came within striking range, the yearling launched herself toward the shallows, mindless of getting wet. A sharp squeal pierced the air as her jaws grasped the muskrat by the back of the neck, lifted it clear of the water and then applied pressure. Its squirming ceased as she severed its spine, killing it instantly.

Dripping wet, the victorious hunter sprang back onto shore, shook off her pelt and then began trotting toward the volcano. As she moved away from the river, something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. She turned and saw a wolf. She slowed, then stopped. Wildfire then changed directions, approaching the stranger warily. Luckily for her, she smelled like the commander, so the Bandrona quickly identified her as a pack mate. She came to stand a few feet away, gently setting her kill down at her feet.

"Hey there," she greeted, only then really becoming aware of the stranger's exotically two-toned markings.