She is here because her sister was here, only now growing bold enough to take a small jaunt across the slopes on her own. She has found her father’s old den, has set up shop, so to speak, in the cozy hole with it’s bushes and trees providing cover. She does what she can, adjusting to the pleasure that her sister took in being here. It was only right that Nico love the slopes and cliffs - they were born to it, after all.

But what about her? What did she take joy in? What could there be for a girl about to come into her own come spring?

It was not as though she was talented like her parents, each with their own benefit to offer a home. She is not even as generalized in talent as her sister was at the moment. She was too soft, too warm, too kind, too delicate. She would not, she thought, be very welcome in an environment so used to asking it’s members to be useful or able to provide for their peers. She was not politically minded (or else why be here), she was not made for the hunt, she was not built as a weapon, she was not made for cunning or stealth. She was not, even, very keen on the thought of medicinal practices.

What she was good for, perhaps, was a little more superfluous. A song, a dance, a good head on her shoulders with which to offer hope and glee - comfort and joy. Those she could give. Tenderness and caring, patience and understanding. Those she had in spades. Superfluous in survival, yet crucial to morale and emotional bonds. When she breaks her den’s cover after a brief meal caught by a member of the hosting pack feasted on within, she is bright as she ever was.

Her tail is wagging, her eyes like mercury as they scan the steep downgrade on either side of the dead-drop small cliff a good ten yards from the front of the mouth of her home. So much to explore, so much to admire. It did not matter who held the land in those moments, it did not matter who deserved to claim it. It was beautiful and she was in it. She relishes how the snow coats the ground, built up even beneath the pines that kept her little patch of heaven green.

Then it is off she goes, a little hum hidden behind smiling lips and a little pep in her step. It is only when a flying rabbit catches her eye that she stops and blinks, her shaggier figure billowing with ‘I am almost grown’ fluff she would soon fill out. It makes her a sight as she sees the culprit rip-tearing his way up the path towards her miniature home away from home.

When he is near enough to make a greeting without howling or calling him off his course, she let’s out a small chirrup of a sound. "Hello!"