Shy Deer Steppes The heart is a wolf and it is made of glass

Nighttime was cooler, more suited to Potema's Arctic coat, still thick though slowly shedding as summer blossomed. She combed the prairie for any signs of life; she found many of the grass varity, but little of herbs. It was a fruitless effort, she thought, but she kept moving through the grass, heading south. Every once and a while, she marked the ground, close to where she saw a clump of something important growing. She couldn't make out the details very well in the low light (thanks to her single eye), but the smell was familiar, even at their early stage of growth.

Eventually the dirt and grass turned into sand, and Potema knew that it was about time to turn back. She had no place in the desert; nothing grew there, it was too hot. She scanned the area first before turning around, eventually squinting at a dark figure in the distance.

She couldn't make out the features from here, but knew that it was canine. She kept quiet, hoping it wasn't a starving wolf out to find a meal.