Lady snow owl. Svalla barks a laugh at this title, for she is far from a lady. With a wolffish grin, she leads their journey, following the hoof prints carved into mud by the herd he'd spooked. Further down the valley they'd be; hopefully calm by now, though surely alert.
These forests and old and they are wild; it reminds her, bitter sweetly, of her home. Her mountain, her old forests, her old range. She carves through it like a blade, until the pine's begin to thin and the trail they follow calms. Distantly, a bugle rings.
His mindless chatter is grating as it is amusing.
So eager to earn your title. Have patience, or all your hunts will end in failure.She mused as she strode. Confident are her steps, fluid but strong. Meanwhile, he clambers beside her with a youthful gleam in his eye and a pep in his step.
These forests and old and they are wild; it reminds her, bitter sweetly, of her home. Her mountain, her old forests, her old range. She carves through it like a blade, until the pine's begin to thin and the trail they follow calms. Distantly, a bugle rings.
His mindless chatter is grating as it is amusing.
Allmóðir gefi mér þolinmæði.The wildling muses in her natal tongue, before she veers in her step to swing low and nip at his hocks.
Let's see if you can catch something first.She rivaled with a chuckle. Then, another nip, so their pursuit may quicken.
Show me how you stalk, cub. If you frighten the herd again, I might just eat you instead.A tease, though she pairs it with a toothy smile.