“There,” Miskwaa said with a satisfied huff, releasing the prey from her grasp and taking two steps back to appraise their handiwork. The moose carcass, its side ravaged by the last canines to make a meal of it, lay just before the flattened bed of flowers than Ziigwan and Miskwaa had taken to calling their own. And beside the cadaver stood her ghostly helper, the pristine white of his muzzle smattered with red from their find. “Well done,” she said and gave him an approving nod, chest heaving slightly from the effort exerted. Ultimately, though the woman may not have seemed so one the surface, Miskwaa was excited and quite satisfied with their find: luck was shining upon her, if only for today.
Now to get her uncle here so he might enjoy the good news she and Alphinaud had quite literally dragged to their doorstep. She took a small step away from Alphinaud, a movement which may have been written off as idle restlessness; in reality, she wanted as much distance between them as possible while calling for her uncle, though the distance remained civil and friendly by her standards. The cinnamon-toned wolf tipped her chin back and let loose a commanding howl, her tone rather low for a female. Her song echoed excitedly through the trees and the surrounding flower petals seemed to hum with the power of her voice before Miskwaa lowered her maw and fell silent. She stood utterly silent, apparently unaware of the awkward silences she was so prone to creating. Instead, her golden gaze darted restlessly about, searching for her uncle's approaching silhouette amid the surrounding foliage.