Hoshor Plains Even When Your Asleep

On a particularly strong gust of wind a heady scent caused the white wolf to stop in her tracks, her muzzle tilted silently in the direction of the fluttering gale. A coyote. Pallas lifted her head, siphoning the cold air into her glistening black nostrils. Definitely coyote.

Wordlessly she sussed out the location of the thing; before long she saw it, tawny and little lying in the the dirt. With a growl she stepped towards it, her tail fluttering behind her and her proud head held at an arrogant height. She was not about to allow some weedy thing to encroach upon her dining grounds without invitation.