Sawtooth Spire River of Swedish Fish

praimfaya's hunt for a den felt like it was a neverending task; never quite satisfied with whatever foxhole she's found to spend the nights in. though providing the night was clear she preferred the glow of a thousand stars. that ever daunting task drew her to where majority of the pack denned, idly pawing at one. the scent of fish and blood is what first draws her attention away, though the older woman carrying it falls within the sweep of her frostbound gaze quickly after. praimfaya, lets out a low chuff of greeting, den hunt paused in favor of socializing.