Crimsonite Arcturos

It patrols a wide territory from the wing, quartering the snowfields in long silent glides and reading the whole white expanse with eyes that miss nothing that moves. Its hunting stoop is soundless to the very last instant, and it takes prey with a precision that borders on the surgical. It is fiercely protective of its crag-nest, driving off far larger creatures with a sudden silent rush out of the dark, and its low, resonant hoot, carrying across the frozen miles, is the sound Fresia's travelers use to reckon the coming of night.