Morningside Cuesta i feel it move through me

Her heart had cracked, begun to heal, and then shattered again. Each day, the black-and-white woman fought to put another piece back where it belonged-- knowing that it would never be flawless as it had been in her youth, and also knowing that the gilded cracks made it more beautiful than it had been, too. Pain and memories ebbed and flowed, and Magpie would occasionally spend a day hidden from the rest of the world to be alone in her grief. The next might be spent as if nothing had changed at all.

She had made a mess of her life, but despite her penchant for breaking commitments and there was a determination in her, to survive and to thrive. She thought often of Summer's eyes and the flower that had grown despite the cold autumn. Those were the memories that gave her a fiery hope, a motivation that drove her to do whatever it took to turn things around.

Weak and thin, she had come to the Cuesta for the hares she knew resided here-- pausing before tracking down their warrens to remember her niece and the dark wraith that ruled the Sleeping Dragon. It would be death to return there, she knew, and Magpie had no desire to make amends that would not be welcome. But she took a moment, now, to think of them and wish of the universe that they were well.

When her thoughts darkened-- of course they were well, for everyone seemed to do so without her-- she shut her mind to them and tuned her focus to the hunt.

It was strange. Knowing his best friend, no love, no companion, whatever the hell Sen was to him was dead. He'd never admitted to himself nor ehr the potential feelings beneath their odd relationship, so he wasn't sure how badly to feel of Thuringwethil's murder of the mother of his children, who he has no idea where they roam. His visit to Sleep Dragon was rather eventful with the multiple wolves trying so damn hard to intimidate him, to scare him anyway possible. All he wanted to do was ask some damn questions, but tha group is far too mindless to have a civil conversation. But now that Seadog was dead, along with Sen, and perhaps his sane mind--not like it was sane in the first place. 

Oh well, it was nothing to dwell on too much. The past is the past, but goddamnit if he just was left alone, never to be kidnapped by those nomadic hooligans his life would be on track. Though the ebony wolf knew well that he couldn't change anything, so he'd move on as quick as possible. He had been roaming a lot to ease whatever hidden pain still lingered, and ended up in the Cuesta. Fortunatley during the winter he managed to stay fit and healthy, only because he'd dealt with more lifestaking situations before. His breaths were slow and timed, creating the illusion on smoke exiting his nose. His paws stung somewhat in the bitter winter, he preferred the summer much more. While aimlessly trekking the area, an unfamiliar smell presented itself, he lifted his ears in response. Depp rarely denied  the chance to meet someone new, so he followed it best he could.

Rabbits were difficult to hunt in the winter, but Magpie was— at this point— an expert. She had spent much of her life as a lone wolf, and hare meat had sustained her more times than she could count while she had been unattached. The Corvidae never thought of herself as a hunter, but she was skilled in the maneuvers required for small-game hunting. It's because of Peregrine, she realized. He had wanted her to be Gamekeeper, those years ago, and when he turned his back on her the first time she bucked the idea of ever making a name for herself through something so essential as hunting.

But she needed it, now. For once, Magpie decided to embrace her talents. Her ears stood alert, pivoting this way and that to listen for the tell-tale scramble of feet beneath the snow. She borrowed her winter technique from foxes— listening, then diving when a rodent made the fatal error of coming too close. Before she could, the weighted sound of a wolf approaching interrupted her effort— and she sighed, knowing she'd need to abandon the hunt at least temporarily. Her prey would know the noise and scatter.

She turned and moved toward him, loosing a growl of warning in her frustration. Normally amicable, she would not forgive him the unintended interruption. He could be the reason she might starve this winter, and with a flagging tail that told him in no uncertain terms that he should not follow, the Corvidae moved to put some distance between them that she might find some other snack.