Ragnar the Red (Because I Can't Help Myself)

It had been a week or two since her run-in wit the bear sow, and she was finally beginning to feel more limber in that shoulder. Enough that she ventured from the territory to scout around the lands that surrounded Valhallan soil, eyes scanning idly as she moved, though still with an inescapable limp in the injured side of her front end. She was still pretty stiff, but she was well enough to travel.

She padded slowly through the ravine, glancing up from time to time to be sure nothing would attack or fall on her from above. You could sometimes find deer or elk crumpled at the base of the ravine’s walls after a blind fall through thickets that had been hiding the edge of the cliffs. Not that she wouldn’t complain if a deer fell right in front of her—prey was always desired for her pack’s wellbeing; but she didn’t feel like being crushed beneath a frightened animal.

She paused to sniff at an old carcass that had already been stripped for the most part, flies having claimed the rest. The rank smell clenched at her nostrils and she snuffed the scent back through her nostrils before moving on down the ravine, ears alert for signs that she wasn’t alone.

Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think