Dragoncrest Cliffs return of the pistolero

There was a shift in the atmosphere. Haunt sensed it, even though she couldn't make sense of it. She stepped softly out of the cave to find snow falling thickly. But there was no wind. Everything was very still. Breathless, Haunt decided, her yellow eyes scanning the nearby beach before she decided to take advantage of the kinder conditions and climb up to the top of the cliffs, to the forested breadth of the territory.

As she wove through the trees, skimming along the deep drifts of snow, Haunt caught a vaguely familiar scent. Licking her chops, she hastened her step, following a natural slope in the landscape that led her toward the rocky escarpments near the southeastern fringe of Sapphique's claim. Just beyond the borders, she spotted it: a young doe lying in the snow. She was upright but breathing heavily, with no obvious wounds.

Haunt crouched instinctively, her mind racing. Was the deer injured? Or would she run at the first sign of wolves? After a moment of deliberation, the young huntress decided to take a gamble. She raised her head and howled, a short note turning into a longer one when she saw the deer startle and try to jump to her feet, only to tumble back into the snow.