---

Her shoulder healed in its due time; it stung and then itched and then disappeared beneath a layer of oak-bark fur as if it had never happened. Midge felt herself slot into the routines of the pack with practiced efficacy; her busy-body approach to her duties kept her in good standing, while her persistent silence made her a more intimidating option for conversation. With prey scarcer and the cold cutting deeper, the huntress found little time on her paws to rectify or muse on this.

She traversed snowbanks with a now-practiced ease, tail swishing cheerily in her wake. In her jaws, a scrawny snowhoe swung, boneless. Little puffs of breath huffed past the hare's carcass as the huntress moved, gaze scanning the snow for the telltale marks of a waiting cache. She had not yet arrived at her destination when a new silhouette took shape in the diffused sunlight of the ever-grey sky. The snow groaned beneath Midge as she halted, ears pricking toward the woman. Pale, but more noticeably, horrific scars slashed across her back. Her scent had been noted in passing through the territory - this was one of her packmates, for as long as Midge remained within these borders. Perhaps, much longer than initially expected. She was loathe to lose the stability of a pack so soon, with so many strange occurrences amongst the magic of this land. Midge flicked her tail side to side, lifting her chin in silent greeting.

Saoirse

SKILL hunter 1/5

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saoirse was not too much of a social butterfly. she spent most of her days either with aylin in the medicine den or alone, occasionally a solo hunt so as to not feel wholly dependent on the generosity of ashfell — the last thing she wanted to be was indebted to them.

today would've been one of those hunting trips. or at least an attempt at one. her nose shifts aim between the ground and the wind, searching for the scent of something good. she was in no condition to be breaking ice to go fishing and birds were rare in cold climates such as the summit. calving season could not come any sooner, maybe then saoirse would have enough strength to make it out on her own.

but the only scent of a rabbit she finds was a dead one, the scent of its blood striking enough to call saoirse's attention before she heard the crunch of footsteps in snow. a woman the color of deep chestnut was the lucky hunter, white snowshoe hare clutched as she greets saoirse with a simple, polite tilt and a friendly wag. saoirse returns it, recognizing her scent first before her face. the steel maiden has smelled it before, so there was no need to defend territory.
the people of ashfell were kind, but most had a weight to their eyes. even this girl, friendly as she may be, has a story of her own. in that, saoirse is a little glad she isn't entirely alone, as selfish of a thought that was.

..good catch. saoirse struggles out, her voice stilted and scraping the back of her mind for an excuse to converse with the woman — it would be wise to get to know her roommates.

---

The woman was slim, even with the thickness of her winter coat failing to hide the way her skin clung to bone like soaked silk. She spoke stiffly, but the wave of her tail was friendly and her words split the tense, cold air with praise.

The huntress did not know her packmate's story; did not need to, did not care for sordid details. Midge was a practical woman, and focused her attention on the problems she could see and identify. Skinny enough for the cold to pose a deadly risk, scarred enough to make the huntress surprised at the woman's survival, and Midge of course interpreted the she-wolf's stiff greeting to be shyness initially.

A few of those problems were easily addressed with the magic of a shared meal and a smile. The huntress trod closer, prancing through the chest-deep snowdrifts with a huff and a puff until she was close enough to toss the rabbit into the she-wolf's orbit. A bob of her head emphasized; this is for you. It'd end up in one of her packmate's bellies one way or another, anyway.

Saoirse