The Bisontennial.

Rakia’s icy blue eyes studied the barren stretch of the ancient riverbed – its stark, gleaming whiteness under the mid-winter sun was almost blinding. Her angular face was alert and her sleek black nose quivered, picking up the faint scent of a nearby bison in the cold air. The sight of her own footprints dotting the marble landscape gave her an odd sense of elation. Each step the hunting party took was calculated, her legs moving with fluid grace against the sheer backdrop of white marble. The jagged cliffs looming around her formed an oddly beautiful prison, while the worn boulders gleamed under the unyielding glare of the overhead sun.

While it wasn’t entirely unheard of for a lone bison to wander this far north, it was uncommon, and they weren’t going to let the opportunity of such a hunt get away from them. Traces of the bison's passing were scant across the riverbed, the only indication a single hoofprint stamped into the brittle frost. Yet, they were a relentless, the lust for the kill driving them forward.

"Rakia Perreau"