Ouroboros Spine The captain's got his boots on

An unconscious tension melts from her shoulders at the nanuk's ready acceptance of her, a rare thing indeed especially where it concerned hunting. It was not a secret that the mouse could hunt, or at least trap small game, but neither was it common knowledge. Her skills lay mainly with tracking which many, including the wolves of the blackpine, had confused for hunting. It had been frowned upon for women of her native tribe to hunt but the orphan might've starved if not for teaching herself the essential skill, her uncle surely wasn't going to help her any. His painting had been brewing, he a master of the trade and oft lost in a stupor of his own creation. Most turned a blind eye to the pup's breaking of customs though this didn't mean there hadn't been whispers following after the dove. Harsher things once she'd outpaced the trackers amongst the hunting party of their clan. 

"Perhaps," the cloudberry voiced as she thought back, trying to recall if she had noted anything of the sort. "There might've been. I did see a few older calves, from last spring's rut. But I didn't get close enough to pinpoint any pregnant cows. They seemed edgy and I was afraid of displacing them further from the Spine," she admitted unabashedly. The aspiring Naturalist understood well the delicate balance of ecosystems and some tidy aspect of the reclusive girl hated to see them disturbed.