It was midday in the Vale, a clear afternoon, a brief pause in the otherwise snowy days. They'd not been heavy, but just enough to keep the snow underpaw crisp. Soon, when fall neared its end, most days would be overcast with snow and ice, which kept most from inhabiting their mountains. Dalmatia, though, had been born in the Vale, since youth, been running through the snow as if it were nothing new, ice-skating with (some) ease — a strictly winter activity, and usually accidental. Though today, she is merely a visitor near the stream, visiting the cluster of her favorite berry bushes that liked to hide underneath the shade of the pines.

There are few fruits in the fall, but the blooms of the blueberry bushes had started to sprout, their sweet scent attracting other small creatures. Dal did her best to keep quiet when she was hunting, especially something other than berries (but had to do something else when they weren't in season), but often failed. This time, her pawsteps were too loud, crunching upon fallen leaves, alerting the hare to her presence, and making it sprint towards the stream. Dal sprinted after it, but her attention was caught by someone else a little downstream. By the time she looked back, the hare was fleeing upstream. Her stomach grumbled, yet she could see the small struggle in the wolf at first glance, and decided her meal could wait.

He smelt of Dawnbreak, most likely one of the resident visitors, most found their way here injured, and they never turned away someone in need. Is it a new pain or old? She called, her voice soft, as her dry form approached his semi-wet one, keeping towards the edge.