Buffa-Low

Marrow

Marrow settled in the prairie, watching all sorts of animals wander about the grasslands. Today the bison caught her attention. They trudged through the soggy, autumn mud, steam rising from their nostrils. An ice storm had blown in the night before, leaving crystal casings over the grass. It was beautiful… but Marrow wanted to see it stained red. She slinked behind the herd, eyes searching for any sign of weakness, knowing full well she wouldn't be able to slay one herself but that wasn't entirely the point. She wanted to practice. Keen eyes scanned the herd, noting a older male that seemed to constantly be at the back. A potential target?