The Bracken Woods there is no other word for spirit

It was his intention to travel further south, but for the time being, the dog stuck close to the woods he was most familiar with. The stranger who had invited him to join his pack had not been back, nor had the proud female from the nearby boulder, so Prophet was left alone in silence much of the time, to either explore the woods or rest. This suited him, a solo ranger, quite well. He was becoming familiar with the general game in the area, smaller and faster than the muskoxen and caribou of home, but he was wise enough to not underestimate them. The fleet doe he spotted in the morning had seemed fragile, but it was faster and more alert than him, and reminded him of sturdy tundra ungulates enough that he dared not even waste his energy chasing one.

His focus was on small game instead. With shallow breaths, he dogged the nearly inaudible footsteps of some small critter or another with tall ears and poised body. His fur was dark and hid him well in the deep woods and he passed by tangles of wood and towering trunks with a predator's quiet manner. His quarry was aware of him, he could tell in the quickening pitter-patter of its feet, and he himself accelerated in an effort to close the gap. What he found when he rounded the next tree was not a fleeing hare, although he swore he saw a downy white hide disappear into the bushes, but a lump on the ground directly in his path.

His nose was assaulted with the scent at the same moment his hackles rose with alarum and he growled, surprised, and began a quick and choppy sidestep with his tongue flashing nervously to put distance between himself and the other.