11.) Is there an animal you equate with your character?
——————————————————————————————————————
On Sundermount the wind blew unceasingly, carrying scents of pine and mountain heather, curling around the valleys and up the ridges, with an occasional tang of snow.

Kaja would never admit it to the others, but she liked scouting ahead. Kirkwall was crowded, Lowtown especially, crowded with people and their problems and most of all, the noise!  Jaunts out of the city were a welcome reprieve, despite whatever nasty little job they were involved in this time. When she slipped into that mental state of I’m not here, look right past me, she felt, not alone, but solitary. A solitude that was all too hard to come by, lately.

She slipped silently up the mountain, keeping off the main path. She would have to turn back soon, she knew, and let the others know the way was clear at least this far, but she dallied, wanting to enjoy the quiet a bit longer.

It wasn’t a sound, but some sixth sense that alerted her. That feeling that said, you’re being watched. She stilled, only her eyes moving, scanning her surroundings intently. Even so, her gaze passed over the watcher twice before a twitch of whiskers caught it, drawing her back.

The lynx, or bobcat, actually, crouched on an outcropping of rock above the path, slitted eyes unblinking on her. The perpetual breeze ruffled black ear tufts, stroked the snowy bib and tawny, spotted fur that camouflaged the animal so well. They stared at each other for an ageless time, golden eyes to silver, until finally the bobcat yawned, displaying an impressive set of fangs. I guess you’re all right, the unspoken attitude allowed, as the animal casually rose to its feet and turned away. Not even a whisper of sound accompanied its disappearance into the rocks behind the perch.

Some inarticulate urge sent Kaja after it. She climbed the rough rock, placing her hands and feet carefully, not thinking about what the Void she was doing, chasing after an overgrown cat when she should be returning to her waiting associates.

It hadn’t gone far. A small pocket nestled in the mountain’s flank, carpeted with thick moss and edged with hardy mountain plants clinging to crevices. She watched as the ‘cat approached two—no, three—others. She arched an eyebrow in surprise. Lynxes were lone hunters, usually, although she had heard of small groups hunting together, very rarely. They seemed to be rather adaptable; she had seen them from the prairies to the mountains.

She watched as noses met in greeting, and then froze as four sets of eyes turned as one to gaze up at her. Again there was a long moment of assessment as the hunters stared at one another. The tableau was broken when the scout—for that was what she had first encountered, she suddenly realized—flicked the stub of a tail and bounded away. The others followed, more slowly, as it led the way; much as she led her companions, she realized.

She grinned after the predators. “Good hunting, friends,” she said under her breath, feeling a special kinship with ‘her’ cat. Ah well, time to collect her companions and finish their own hunt.